


Haywire Heart

by Gia_cz



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Healing, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mutual Pining, Nurses & Nursing, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Such a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18394268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia_cz/pseuds/Gia_cz
Summary: Oliver is a successful athlete, who had to have an emergency heart surgery.Elio is a student nurse, who is just trying to survive his first day on placement in a clinical practice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello ☺
> 
> This is the very first fan fiction in this absolutely beautiful fandom written by me and although I first wrote it just for my own entertainment I thought, perhaps, I could find somebody else, who might appreciate it and decided to post it on here. 
> 
> English isn’t my first language.
> 
> Also, the story is set in the UK, as that’s the place with whose nursing educational system I’m familiar.
> 
> I would be ever so grateful for any form of feedback to be able to improve and progress in my writing!

_“ And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.” ― Libba Bray, The Sweet Far Thing_

There is no way I’m going to be late on my very first day, Elio thinks, feeling frustrated as he runs up the stairs, frantically looking left and right but the never-ending corridor looks exactly the same as the one he just left. He tries to bring his ragged breathing under the control, glancing over the information on his phone screen once again. For God’ sake, he asked two random staff members for the directions already and still managed to get lost, can he be anymore unprofessional? 

“Are you lost?” An amused voice breaks Elio’s train of thought and although his non-existent brain to mouth filter helpfully supplies with a _“piss off”_ , he looks up with a little smile, which he is sure doesn’t correspond with the rest of his annoyed face. 

“I can always see when it’s one of you students in purple first day or not, you look terrified mate!” Elio nods slowly, refusing to be rude as his eyes slide over the man in front of him, whose big belly stretches his maroon uniform to the point it looks almost uncomfortable. Make friends with domestic staff, they know everything and will save your ass, he hears Marzia’s voice in his head and forces out one additional smile. 

“Is it that obvious? I’m completely useless with any kind of directions, you might as well talk gibberish to me,” he turns his phone around and tries to ignore the fact he is a whole twenty minutes late. 

“Ward B? You are almost there lad, just walk straight ahead and take the next left.” Elio thanks him and almost trips over his own feet as he hurries down the corridor.

He needs this. He isn’t going to lie; becoming a student nurse wasn’t something he always dreamed about doing, at least not until his mother passed away and every single thing in his life which made sense and gave him a sense of stability crumbled into pieces. It was hard to believe that it was only five years ago when he thought of pursuing a career in music, he remembers being so serious and proud about it. How much time passed since he had a chance to sit down and play the piano? Elio could easily convert those long months into seconds but chose not to. There was no point; there was no turning back. He finally arrives at the ward entrance with a big letter B above it, his nerves he forgot about for a moment made his hands shake once again.

“You can do this,” Elio whispers but his voice sounds small and unsure in his ears.

“Be good my Elio and be kind, always be kind.” He smiles as he recalls his mother’s little mantra and walks in. 

**° ° °**

“First year? We requested second or third year students only,” Mandy the ward sister tells Elio with an audible sigh as he tries to catch the last snippets of the morning handover. “This is a very busy ward, thirty-five surgical beds, you will have to crack on boy,” she continues ruthlessly whilst Elio manages to nod a little. 

“I worked in a few nursing homes in the past, I’m familiar with the basics,” he tries and extends an invisible olive branch.

“That’s good,” she pats him on the shoulder and gives him a reassuring smile. “You will shadow Emma today”. A girl across the room waves at Elio and he waves back. She looks around Elio’s age, perhaps a little older. She reminds Elio of a young Audrey Hepburn with her doe like brown eyes, perfectly applied red lipstick and hair styled in a neat bun on the top of her head.

Suddenly, the handover finishes; everybody stands up and goes their separate ways. 

“You have the prettiest hair!” Emma tells him, straightening a name badge in the middle of his chest. “Hello my name is Elio,” she reads it out slowly, almost, as if tasting Elio’s name on her tongue. “I don’t know why but I feel like we will be really good friends really quickly,” she adds and Elio smiles at her, his first real smile of the day as he thinks exactly the same thing. 

“You don’t get to tell me about being pretty Miss Audrey Hepburn reincarnated,” Elio waves in her general direction like there isn’t any need for further explanation. 

“Flattery is definitely the way to win me over, don’t you ever stop!” She laughs and folds her handover sheet into a little neat square. “If you stick with me for those five weeks, I’m usually allocated in a male bay area. Don’t ask me why, but according to Mandy I manage to lift their spirit,” she rolls her eyes and laughs again. “Don’t let her scare you, she barks but doesn’t bite. If the shit hits the fan, she is definitely the one who will speak up and protect her staff.” 

Elio helps Emma to prepare their morning trolley, neat piles of bed sheets, pillowcases, towels and hospital gowns. She points him towards the clean utility room, where he gets single use washing bowls and bedpans. 

“To be honest, although we are a ward caring for patients after cardiac surgery, the majority of our boys are pretty much self-caring. I mean they do need some help, a little prompting and some of them are in worse shape than others but nothing we can’t manage,” she takes the supplies from him and places them onto the trolley. They make their way into the bay; passing by a single room, which Elio is sure, is a part of their male bay area. He looks at Emma and points to the room with his chin. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot that you didn’t catch the beginning of the handover. We have one postop today. His name is Oliver Ulliva and he is twenty-eight years old.” She gives Elio a moment to orient himself within his handover sheet. He nods as he scans through the details under Oliver’s name.

“Professional rugby player, had to have a heart valve replaced,” she adds, her voice suddenly quieter and somehow sadder. “He collapsed during a training session and had to have emergency surgery. They don’t think he will ever play again or at least not professionally.”

“That sucks,” Elio thinks about the ambitions he once had and lost, his heart sits heavy in his chest. “That fucking sucks.”

“He should be transferred to the ITU today,” she leans towards Elio and bump their elbows together. “My friend works there and she said he is super hot. Baja panti sort of hot.” She wiggles her eyebrows at Elio and they start their morning routine with a spirit lifting laugh. 

**° ° °**

“Elio!” Mandy’s sharp voice causes him to stop mid-step and he awkwardly spins around. While walking over to him, she is being pulled aside by two different people, one of them Elio definitely recognizes as a doctor over who Elio almost managed to spill an overflowing washing bowl earlier this morning. He looks towards Elio’s direction and gives him another disapproving look. Elio supplies him with one of his sweetest smiles because if you know you can’t win? Kill them with kindness. 

Sister Mandy catches up with him in one of the storerooms. “Fuck my life,” she exclaims and takes a quick puff from her e-cigarette. “You saw nothing.” She winks at Elio as she puts it back into her pocket.

“My night staff just called in sick and some idiots think I’m here to do the job of three people.” She leans against the wall and for the first time it seems she has the time to properly look at Elio. “You ready to look after your postop patient? He just arrived on the ward and you are hiding in a storeroom!”

“I wasn’t hiding I was just fetching...” Mandy’s sudden laugh makes him stutter and he can’t help but laugh with her. He shakes his head and gives her a little nod. “I’m ready.”

Mandy gives him a quick thumbs up before she answers the phone, which is relentlessly vibrating in her pocket. “Chelsea is having a handover from ITU staff. Go, pretty boy, go. Be useful. Learn.”

**° ° °**

Oliver feels ridiculous as two porters try to manoeuvre his bed around the ward and finally parks it in a single room, number three. The strong smell of disinfectant sends him into a violent coughing fit and he yanks the oxygen mask off his face with, cursing under his breath. The nurse who accompanied him from the intensive care unit suddenly stops in the middle of her sentence and Oliver becomes surprised there aren’t laser beams shooting out from her eyes. 

“That mask is there for a reason. Your oxygen saturations dropped to 90% earlier and I know you said you get short of breath during your panic attacks but be that kind and try to keep it on for a little bit longer.”

“Oh for… that wasn’t a panic attack, I spoke with my mother on the phone and I got frustrated and upset and…” Oliver gives up as his words become muffled by oxygen mask as she places it over his face. He was so fucking tired of his life, being an adult was overrated.

He sits there quietly and listens to the handover, which sums up everything that happened in the last two days.

Oliver was in the middle of a maul, tackled from left and right by his teammates and that’s the last thing he remembers. He wishes there was some sort of amazing story to tell, shards of his life flashing in front of his eyes while he finally realizes what’s worthy and what isn’t but all he recalls after his rugby training is waking up in the ITU and being informed he had emergency open heart surgery. He wishes he could be deaf to the sympathy in their voices, faked or genuine, he didn’t ask for any of it.

_But he is so young and handsome! What a promising career wasted just like that._

No more than forty eight hours of his life and he had heard it all.

_“And what’s going to happen now Oliver? How long until you can be on the field again?”_

_“I don’t know mum -. The surgeon said she definitely doesn’t suggest any lifestyle changes completely but obviously the recovery won’t be easy, it can take months and -.”_

_“That’s ridiculous. You are young. Strong. Are you going to give up on everything you built over the last ten years? What does Jeremy have to say about all this? I raised you better than this Oliver, listen –“_

Against his will, Oliver can feel his chest tightening again, his surgical incision suddenly became so much more painful. His head is spinning with a recalled conversation and it’s as if he lost control over his own mind and thoughts, his mother’s words won’t stop playing on constant repeat. Oliver opens his eyes and realizes there is nobody else in the room. There isn’t enough oxygen, his lungs, flat, useless things won’t work and he feels the tears rolling down his face and he feels so ridiculous – grown ass man like him crying over somebody, who would never –

**° ° °**

Elio makes his way to room number three and enters after a brief polite knock. He doesn’t need to think twice, he recognizes a panic attack when he sees one. He walks over to the man’s bed and presses an emergency button. 

“Hi! My name is Elio. Elio Perlman,” he sounds so stupid to his own ears, somebody… anybody, help. Pair of scared wild eyes locks with his own and he thinks about his own share of panic attacks when he wakes up in the middle of the night, thinking about his mother, being so thin that she doesn’t look like his mother anymore, the odour of death and his own hopelessness.

“Let me help you with your oxygen mask, okay?” Although, he is absolutely petrified, he smiles and tries to dislodge the mask from the other’s man tight grip.

“I know it’s very difficult but can you please try and focus on your breathing? Look at me and try to do the same,” Elio takes one deep, shaky breath, “try and hold it in for five seconds, count with me – one, two, three – that’s it and out through your mouth!”

There is a sudden shift in other man’s eyes, it seems they came back to life, really looking at Elio, looking and seeing 

“Whatever caused this, I know it’s scary but I promise you are safe. You and me, we can get through this together. We will take care of you. You aren’t alone. I promise you aren’t alone.”

Three other nurses rush into the room but Elio knows that the worst part is over now as the other man continues to breathe with him and gives him a shaky little nod.

From the corner of his eye, he registers Mandy and Emma as they cancel his emergency call.

**° ° °**

“Is he better now?” He asks Mandy, who is the last to leave room number three. His adrenaline is still working overtime, but wasn’t this one of the reasons why he decided to be a nurse? “I left because I felt there was suddenly too many of us and I didn’t want him to feel like he is outnumbered by us.” 

“That was a fine job you did in there. Well done.” She smiles at him and hands him a folder with a patient’s chart. “But you still didn’t do the job I originally asked you to do. Chop, chop. He is asking for you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos you left under the first chapter! I was super anxious about posting my work as I'm aware there are mistakes as English isn't my first language and I don't have a beta reader but you are all so supportive and welcoming, thank you for this too ☺

Oliver tries to suppress his frustration, feeling utterly stupid as he turns another pair of socks inside out. Could it get lost in a panic of him being transported to the hospital? Why would he dwell on such a small, insubstantial thing anyway?

He blinks away a brief memory of his grandfather, his kind, wrinkled face and eyes, which were filled with the deepest shade of blue you can possibly imagine. Oliver, not older than seven years, sitting on his knee and it’s a little bit uncomfortable but he doesn’t complain, he is completely silent and still, listening very carefully.

“See? I told you, there isn’t any reason to be scared or cry,” he smiles at Oliver and throws a handful of grain seeds onto the floor. Oliver is grateful that his own feet are dangling above the ground and he makes sure he brings his knees a little bit closer towards his chest. “Give me your hand and we say hello to her together.”

 He does as his grandfather says but his whole body shakes violently as their fingers entwine and slowly reach a little arc of a chicken’s head. The bright, yellow beak still terrifies Oliver but he likes the softness he feels under his palm and he smiles when a little, curious eye meets his own.

“Remember, my boy. No beast will hurt when treated right,” he turns Oliver’s palm around and places a few of grain seeds in the middle of it. Oliver laughs aloud as his newly found friend gently pecks at his flesh, collecting its treat. “Show them your care and affection and they will show you the same and so much more. People, people on the other side are the ones you should be afraid of.”

 **° ° °**  

Elio stands at the door of the room number three awkwardly, the door is a half way open and he thinks how it somehow represents the way he feels; half of him wants to walk straight in, no questions asked, the other half wants to slam the door shut and run away.

“Hello again, Mr Ulliva,” he says as he pokes his head in, his patient sitting on the bed, surrounded by a pile of socks. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Geez, don’t call me Mr Ulliva. That was my grandfather. It makes me feel ancient.” The other man looks up from his ministrations and it seems to Elio they just met for the very first time, an aura of confidence and certainty around this man doesn’t sit with how lost his eyes were just an hour ago. “It’s Oliver.”

“I’m Elio,” he stutters stupidly as Oliver’s eyes smile at him from beneath a strand of a blonde hair. His timeless handsomeness makes Elio think of George Peppard, it shakes him to his very core how unforced and unplanned it is, reminding Elio of nothing less than a morning sky on the brisk of dawn, when the very first sun rays meet the atmosphere and you can’t do anything else but stare. “I mean, I already introduced myself earlier but I’m not sure if you remember as you weren’t feeling well so -“

“I have never came across that name before,” he replies and Elio can’t miss his not so subtle try of taking their conversation as far from an earlier incident as possible. “How perfectly ordinary sounds Oliver next to Elio, right?”

“Elia means olive in Greek,” Elio’s stupid brain supplies incoherently because apparently right now is a good time for a little bit of trivia as any other. “My mum craved them all the way through her pregnancy.”

Oliver’s laugh is unsurprisingly as pleasant as the rest of him and Elio thinks if he can possibly make him laugh again. He wonders how much would it take to make Oliver forget about his earlier pain and worry or if they embedded their roots far too deep and it cannot be undone. 

“But, tears were not the things to find their way to Mr Bumble's soul; his heart was waterproof.”

Oliver makes this funny thing with his eyebrows and tilts his head ever so slightly to the left.

Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut? Elio thinks as he tries to come up with a feasible apology, which would explain that Elio only wanted to say that there isn’t a one bit, which he would think ordinary about Oliver’s name that in fact -

“Oliver Twist, right?” Oliver’s voice jumps a few octaves higher with a very badly hidden excitement. “That is a quote from Oliver Twist.”

Elio’s smile is so wide his face hurts.

“I guess it’s not that bad then. And theoretically, you could call yourself Oliver too, you know,” he points out as Elio makes his way closer to the bed and sets up a blood pressure measuring machine. “With Elio being Greek for an olive, you are an Oliver without an R.” 

Elio fights this unexplainable urge he suddenly has, to poke himself somewhere between his sixth and seventh rib, as something deep inside his chest feels connected to the man in front of him on a level, which he is yet to discover and explore. It was as if the years of listening and believing when people around him said he was _too much_ and _too different_ all led to this very moment when he finally becomes aware that perhaps he doesn’t have to tune his personality down for anybody, that perhaps it was them, who was so disappointingly mediocre and bland. 

He wants to point out that in that case Oliver could be Elio with an added R but bites an inside of his cheek because that’s just super weird, right?

“Is it okay if I take your blood pressure and check few other things?” This time, it’s Elio, who swerves their conversation away and he congratulates himself internally how smooth he is.

Oliver nods and goes back to rummaging through his sock pile. Elio tries to secure a blood pressure cuff around other man’s arm but fails, because hello, that’s a rugby player’s biceps we are talking about and Elio’s judgement is poor, when all he can compare it to is his wiry, puny limb. 

“What’s the sock mountain about?” Elio asks as he swaps the cuff for a bigger one and it finally fits as he fastens it around Oliver’s arm. The difference in the temperature of their skin is remarkable but Elio doesn’t comment on it. He always feels cold, here in England, no matter the temperature. Warmth of Oliver’s skin takes him back to his childhood in Italy and he suddenly lies under the scorching July sun, his mum smiles at him as she twirls her long flowery dress.

“Can’t find a matching pair?” Elio notices one of the socks stuck on a lowered bed rail as hands it to Oliver.

“I have this stupid habit. I take my amulet off before every training and I put it in a –“ Oliver claps his hands happily as he turns a sock Elio just gave him inside out and a small, golden star of David on a thin chain lands in the middle of his palm.

“I used to have one of these,” Elio’s voice is much quitter than he intended it to be and he clears his throat.

“You used to?”

“Yeah.”

Oliver has enough of empathy to leave certain things alone.

“It’s actually quite funny, you know. If I didn’t have this stupid compulsion, they wouldn’t put a porcine heart valve into my chest.”

“Does it bother you?” Elio asks although he doesn’t really want to. Why does he have to poke his nose where it doesn’t belong?

Does it bother him? Being a Jew and being alive thanks to a pig? Oliver finds it strangely bittersweet and also humbling as he thinks of another living creature’s life being ended so his own can continue. If that’s not a sentiment worthy to write the sermons about then what else is? His mother would definitely have a fit. Oliver has a suspicion that even those very rare and brief touches between the two of them would stop.

“Our body is a machine for living. It is organized for that, it is its nature. Let life go on in it unhindered and let it defend itself,” he feels a bit proud when Elio’s looks up from his chart, a pen rotating between his fingertips.

“It’s one of the Russian classics, right? Tolstoy? But I can’t tell you, which book, I haven’t read him well enough.”

“It looks like you have some homework to do then.” Oliver shrugs and Elio continues to count his respiratory rate.

**° ° °**

Oliver observes Elio and Emma as they are tidying around his room and it makes him wonder about how the two kids of their kind end up working in the hospital. He can call them kids, right? Elio made him feel like he is in his eighties with his Mr Ulliva earlier, but then again, he probably seems ancient to somebody of Elio’s age, the boy couldn’t be older than eighteen.

He looks at Elio as he draws that ridiculous little curtain and Oliver has to squeeze his eyes together as the sun in the room is suddenly too much. When he opens them again, Elio didn’t move from the spot by the window and Oliver has to admit that the kid intrigues him. How well read and witty he is; yet Oliver knows he can make him stutter just by merely looking at him. At first, he made Oliver think about an angry little girl, all pointy chin and bouncing curls but he realizes how harsh he was in his judgement as he sees Elio’s face overlaid by countless shades of golden and yellow.

Oliver is interrupted from his thoughts as his surgeon and her assistant walk in and wish him a good morning. Miss Saw is a very skilled surgeon with a very unfortunate name, considering she literally sawed Oliver’s sternum in half so he prefers to call her Doc instead.

“Checked a few of mine patients in the ITU today, all nurses are missing you Oliver! Half of them had a chance to experience and relive their teenage crush period again,” she winks at Oliver as he slips his hospital gown down so it pools in the middle of his stomach.

Her gaze meets with the sharp edges of his amulet, which is now back around Oliver’s neck and her discomfort is suddenly almost tangible. He shakes his head briefly to stop her from apologising, they had this discussion more than once before, and there wasn’t any reason for further repetition.

Miss Saw helps him to take off his chest support and peels his dressing half way off. “This will need cleaning and redressing,” she turns around to face Elio. “Mandy said that Oliver is your patient so once he has his wash, would you mind?”

“Do you think I could take a shower?” Oliver read the leaflet they gave him regarding the post operational care but he was so desperate to wash his hair. The itch was driving him nuts! “I won’t put a shower anywhere near the wound, I promise.”

“You are meant to start mobilizing with physiotherapists this afternoon, how are you on your feet?” She flips through his medical notes and looks up again. “Have you been using the PCA for your pain? The pain will start sooner or later, so don’t be afraid to use it.”

“As long as you are able to stand up with me and Elio we can just wheel you into the bathroom,” Emma tells him and he gives Miss Saw what he believes is his best set of puppy eyes.

“Keep the waterproof dressing on and make sure you quick about it,” she tells Emma and Elio. “ I mean it, literally in and out. Also, don’t let Oliver strain himself, he knows about the dos and don’ts and if he is being stubborn you call me and I will be back.”

She continues to talk to him, asking Oliver if he wouldn’t mind his story being used as a study case in her new article for a medical journal, looking at the porcine and bovine surgical products and patient’s religious belief.

**° ° °**

Elio feels a bit claustrophobic with three of them in a tiny hospital bathroom. He put Oliver’s clothes at the place where he is sure they won’t get wet and hands Emma his toiletry bag. It doesn't escape Elio’s attention how tidy and organized Oliver’s things are and it makes him think that perhaps Marzia was right when she told him he needs to do some serious cleaning up, the piles of clothes, clean and dirty, discarded all over his room.

“This room is just too bloody small,” Emma sighs as she sets Oliver's towels aside. “Do you mind helping Oliver wash on your own and when you guys done, press the buzzer and I come and help you again?”

Elio agrees because he can see her point as he tries to squeeze himself between Oliver and the sink. He locks the doors behind her as she leaves.

“6 foot 5 of a bull in a china shop, right?” Oliver laughs because he feels awkward, sitting on a bright blue shower chair, which haphazardly bends under the weight of his body.

Elio shrugs and smiles at him from where he stands, putting on a flimsy white pinny. “I don't really think they were ever designed for an actual people.” He omits the gloves Emma left for him, agreeing with his university lecturer for once. Unless he is dealing with the bodily fluids there isn’t reason to use them. Nothing screams therapeutic touch as washing someone’s face through a pair of squeaky gloves.

He takes Oliver’s hospital gown from him; being surprised how many unprofessional thoughts come flooding his poor, defenceless brain. _Get a grip_ , Elio reminds himself as he puts a shower head over Oliver’s hand to ensure he is happy with the temperature.

“That’s great, thanks buddy,” he says and his whole posture visibly relaxes as Elio aims the shower head over his body, making sure he keeps his surgical wound untouched.

“I don’t want to sound arsey, but you know you shouldn’t be doing much,” he watches Oliver as he scrubs at his face, leaving it red and blotchy and he is sure that even this movement is already putting a strain on his unhealed, wired sternum. “So maybe, you wash your face and privates and I will do the rest?” 

Elio doesn’t look anywhere but Oliver’s face when he says it, the little room is already filling with steam, causing Elio’s curls go limp and stick uselessly to his forehead. He feels uncomfortable as his uniform glues itself to his back, and he writes a note to himself to pack a deodorant into his rucksack.

He takes a sponge from Oliver and tries to be quick and sufficient as he washes his arms, back and legs. He definitely doesn’t ponder if Michelangelo’s David would have the same skin tone as Oliver if he wasn’t made from a marble but went on a sunny holidays instead. He huffs with suppressed laugh as he thinks how unfair it is that there is somebody with a size of Oliver’s chest and then there is him with a chest of a ten years old child. 

“I’m not going to lie, I’m pretty much confident about all this,” Oliver’s waves his hand at his body in a matter of fact manner and Elio realizes he said the last thing he was thinking aloud. “But then I think a human body is a work of perfection regardless its proportions. Don't you agree?”

Elio is positive his face is beetroot red, his cheeks are cooking and he feels like he is eight years old again, being caught cheating while playing an Old Maid. 

“We celebrate our ability to create machines that move as man, yet we take for granted the miracle that is the human body.” Oliver says, completely blind to a proportion of Elio’s embarrassment and Elio wonders if it’s more out of kindness or sheer obliviousness. “I read that quote somewhere once and I really liked it.”

Elio nods and lathers Oliver’s hair with a generous layer of a shampoo. It’s one of these expensive brands Marzia never shuts up talking about and it covers the whole of the room in a smell of peaches, sunshine and lazy days of doing nothing. How easy would it be to forget where they are? He washes Oliver’s hair quickly, doctor’s words on Elio’s mind, but he makes sure it’s done properly as he appreciates that Oliver is somebody, who takes a great pride in his appearance.

He supports Oliver to dry his body and helps him to put his t-shirt on. It’s weird seeing him out of the hospital gown. As if suddenly, he doesn’t fit in the surrounding environment anymore, and Elio somehow expects he would just get up and go to play another rugby match.

Elio presses the buzzer to let Emma know they are finished and he notices a slight shake of Oliver’s hands as he cover his lap with the rest of the clothes. His big, and oh so warm hand wraps itself around Elio’s elbow, causing him to stop in his step. “That might be the kindest thing anyone done for me in months.” He offers and his voice unlike his hands is perfectly steady.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday to you all beautiful people ☺

It takes long, excruciating time for Elio to finally slip the sterile gloves on and prepare his working field. He definitely doesn’t recall it being this difficult during the university practice and he giggles quietly to himself as Mandy looms over his shoulder again. Elio absolutely hates when his stupid, confused brain reacts to being uncomfortable and scared by laughing at least appropriate moments. 

“The next step is to clean it but I don’t want you to faff around, it’s still very fresh and the best we can do is to leave it alone,” Mandy opens a packet of a sterile gauze and pours some saline into a little plastic container. 

An angry, weeping wound in the middle of Oliver’s sternum, where they shaved his chest in almost uncaringly looking way causes Elio’s throat constrict painfully, and he has to fight himself to stop a fit of a hysterical laughter. Fragility of the human body will never cease to fascinate him, this persistent little muscle dancing in the middle of it all, keeping us alive.

“This might feel a bit cold,” Elio tells Oliver and dares to look up for a moment, his gaze crushing into the pair of blue eyes, which seems to observe Elio as if dissecting him alive. Elio clears his throat and tries to ignore the way Mandy’s lips curl into a little secretive grin. “Please, let me know if it’s painful and I will stop. You can always use your PCA, just press the button, ok?”

Oliver nods quietly, trying not to think about the way the earlier trip to the bathroom exhausted him, how physically and mentally vulnerable he feels. The truth is, his pain is increasingly worse now, and he isn’t entirely sure why he just doesn’t listen to everybody around and has some IV Morphine for it.

 _“Stop mollycoddling the boy. He will grow up into such a wimp.”_

Even after all those years he can almost taste the venom in his mother’s words, bitter and rancid. She couldn’t forgive his father’s parents for not raising their son obedient enough to stay and accept her controlling behaviour. She despised them almost as much as she wished she never had Oliver. He doesn’t remember his grandfather’s answer but he remembers his big, strong arms wrapping around his torso, making him feel warm and safe. 

“So was it that you always wanted to be a rugby player?” Elio’s question distracts Oliver’s train of thought and he has to tip his hat to the kid. 

Apart from the phone conversation with his mother, nobody dared to mention rugby in front of Oliver. He finds it almost entertaining how carefully they all danced around the topic, so stupidly tactful of Oliver’s feelings.

“Not really,” he says and tries to sit up a little bit, making himself comfortable as Elio secures a new dressing. “Back in the States, when I was younger, I played an ice hockey a lot.”

Mandy takes Elio’s trolley from him, giving him a little wink as she leaves the room. He assumes he done all right, feeling quite proud of a neat, clean rectangle in the middle of Oliver’s chest.

“Ice hockey is quite a big deal in the States, right?” Elio washes his hands and reluctantly eyes the chair next to Oliver’s bed. His inner battle doesn’t take all that long and he sits down, finding it a bit strange after spending the whole morning being rushed off his feet.

Oliver’s eyes lit up almost instantly. “Have you ever tried to play? Do you follow any team in particular?”

Elio can feel himself blushing. Is Oliver taking a mick or would he seriously consider Elio as somebody, who voluntarily anticipates in any sort of sport activity? In Elio’s opinion, all of it was just the purest form of torment. “No, but I like figure skating.” He shrugs like there is some significant resemblance between two sports.

Oliver laughs aloud and regrets it almost instantly, hissing at the sharp pain in his sternum. “Shit. You have to stop being so ridiculously funny. It’s painful.”

Elio considers reminding Oliver about the Morphine, but aborts the mission. For some reason he fails to see and understand, it’s as if Oliver chooses to ignore the fact that he just had a life saving surgery and that it’s not seen as a weakness if he uses help.

“I think it’s just on completely different level of beautiful, you know? How graceful and elegant they all are.” Elio straightens his name badge and looks up. “Plus they have amazing butts.”

Oliver purses his lips really tightly to stop himself from laughing again. “What’s wrong with ice hockey players’ butts? And rugby players’ butts? I tell you what. Nothing. Thank you very much.”

He realizes that the reason why Elio prefers figure skaters’ bodies is simply because he is straight as they come, but Oliver never misses an opportunity to fight his case. His butt is in a great shape. Or will be. Once he stops with this 24/7 bed vacation nonsense and hits the gym again.

“They just look so perky, you know?” And Elio laughs at himself as his hands all animated and excited start to demonstrate said perkiness. “Like you could bounce a quarter of it.”

“Now I really feel like I should be watching figure skating.”

“Well, once you are out of a hospital, we could do that-,” Elio stops himself not early enough, cursing himself internally for not biting his tongue, “I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant, I mean… I meant it but-“

“Yeah, I would like that. To be honest with you, I could use a friend,” Oliver’s smile is so simple, so very open and welcoming and Elio thinks, I used to be able do this, talking to other human beings without seeming as if being illiterate so what’s so different, why Oliver?

“And you could teach me how to ice skate in return,” he says instead and he is proud how grown up and collected he sounds.

“I will be looking forward to it,” Oliver replies and they are interrupted by Psycho ringtone tune coming from Oliver’s iPhone, “that would be my mother.”

“How subtle,” it’s Elio’s turn to smile as he leaves Oliver’s room quietly. 

**° ° °**

Once Oliver finishes his lunch and decides to close his eyes for ten minutes, his room fills in with his teammates and he is sure that all he is breathing at this point is an Axe body spray mixed with a dry sweat. On the table, there is a skyscraper build from chocolate boxes, a supply generous enough to last for the rest of his life and although he never felt particularly close to his teammates, he realizes he misses their company. 

“How many nurses you nailed so far?” Jon asks and everybody roars with laughter.

“What? It’s not like his dick is broken or anything,” Jon shrugs and Pete who is standing behind him slams his hand right in the middle of his back, “oh right. Yeah, Jeremy came along too, he is outside, looking for a parking space.”

Fuck. Oliver switches to autopilot, making sure he replies, nods and laughs in all right places. Why was Jeremy here? They were still teammates, Oliver appreciates that, but Jeremy moved out months ago, why did he even bother to pretend he cares?

Maybe your ex is here because apparently you aren’t over enough to stop fucking each other, Oliver thinks and wonders if it would be socially acceptable if he just runs away in the middle of a conversation and hides in the dark room. He hates how weak he still is when Jeremy comes into the picture. It’s pathetic. The man only ever used Oliver for his personal gains; people around him saw it long before he did, so perfectly comfortable and content in his little ignorance bubble. But then he really loved that man, didn’t he?

But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough that Oliver basically begged the coach to give Jeremy chance on the team, no matter how mediocre of a player he was, no matter he was putting his head right onto the guillotine. It wasn’t enough he accommodated each of Jeremy’s whims, never questioning, why he loved Oliver at seven o’clock and would be swearing and throwing sharp objects at him by eleven. It wasn’t enough that he paid all of his ex’s bills and extravagant way of living to the point when all of his savings were almost gone. It wasn’t enough and it didn’t stop Jeremy from breaking up with Oliver, packing his bags and leaving once Oliver’s position within the team started to falter and he wasn’t at the spotlight anymore. 

And even after all that, Oliver would serve his heart for everybody to see and mock, he didn’t really care as long as his boyfriend took him back. 

But Jeremy didn’t, calling Oliver only when he was in a need of a decent fuck buddy because according to his ex, no matter how big of a looser Oliver was, he knew how to suck a dick like a pro. 

And then there was the fact that Oliver never exactly said no when Jeremy called.

**° ° °**

Of course that Jeremy waltzes into his room straight after everybody else disappears. Because this was how Oliver’s life is going to roll from now on, a roller coaster of the purest fuckery. 

Jeremy closes the door behind himself and Oliver almost hear himself saying _leave it open, please_ , but stops himself from speaking up, because he can’t show how vulnerable he still is, being scared that there isn’t enough of oxygen in the room when he has Jeremy so close that he can almost touch him. 

“Fuck. You look rough,” Jeremy tells him and plants himself in the chair next to his bed, “why didn’t you call me? You should have, you know.”

Oliver forgot that Jeremy missed Oliver’s accident in it’s all detailed glory as he didn't bother coming to training, while most probably getting busy with one of the girls from his impressive fan club. Right. That. The fact that even after whole three years with Oliver he was still so deep in the closet that he lied about everything between the two of them, presenting Oliver as a housemate and nothing else.

“What would be a point in that?” Oliver asks, although he doesn’t really want to know the answer. He is so tired. Tired of always being somebody else’s last option, putting them on this shiny, golden pedestal. His mother and father, Jeremy… why couldn’t he ever be good enough?

Oliver tries not to think how beautiful Jeremy is, he tries not to think about the way his messy brown hair flops from one side to another as he runs his hand through it. He definitely doesn’t think about his almost black eyes, which bore into Oliver with such an intensity he almost feels guilty for not letting Jeremy know. Almost.

“You almost died. Don’t you think I should know about my boyfriend being at the hospital?” Jeremy’s voice is considerably louder now and Oliver feels like banging his head against the wall. What does he want from him?

“I think the boyfriend business resolved itself quite clearly with you and all your junk moving out,” he sighs and tries to change his position, his immobile ass is shrinking into nothing and it hurts, “why are we having this conversation? You have been doing your own thing for three months now.”

Jeremy stands up and adjusts one of the pillows behind Oliver’s back. Oliver thanks him quietly because the level of his heartbreak isn’t so bad to make him impolite.

“It scared me, all right?” Jeremy rubs his face, his hand grabbing for one of the bed rails as if for an anchor. “I mean, look at yourself, you are fucking invincible! Even in a game, for God’s sake, how many times did you play with a dislocated shoulder until we had to physically drag you off the field? Or that time you had a broken nose and nosebleed so epic you fainted in the middle of a try? I don’t know… when Pete called, I thought he is just screwing around and now… here you are with your chest cracked in half. I can’t deal with this shit, just can’t.”

Oliver knows that Jeremy doesn’t do feelings very well. He can count on one hand how many times he seen his ex boyfriend being openly honest in their relationship and this situation, right here, would be one of them.

“Did you ever, at least once think about how does it feel for me? To deal with this all?” Oliver didn’t intend to, but is shouting as well now. “Not everything is about you and your pitiful closeted gay story. Old news. I’m tired of your shit.”

Elio walks into the room reluctantly and Oliver isn’t surprised they didn’t hear him knock.

“Uhm, hi,” Elio says and gives Oliver and his visitor little, insecure wave. They were being really loud and Mandy was about to send Elio to check on them, when Oliver’s buzzer went off. “You buzzed?”

“I… I don’t think so?” Oliver tells Elio and he tries his best to ignore the pain in the middle of his chest.

Elio comes over to Oliver’s bed and checks the call bell, which should be connected in a socket behind Oliver’s back. “You must have pulled on it by accident,” he explains and plugs it back in, cancelling Oliver’s call.

“Listen, Jeremy. I would really appreciate if you let me rest. I’m tired. We will talk about it all later, ok?” He tries to reach for the PCA button, because he really could do with some Morphine right now, feeling like bursting into tears from the pain and Jeremy is still there and he isn’t going anywhere.

“Visiting hours are finishing soon and there will be two hour break for patients to rest, but I’m sure you will be able to visit Oliver later or tomorrow,” Elio says and he knows it’s unnecessary but he can feel Oliver’s discomfort, he looks clammy and his face is drenched in sweat, Elio can’t imagine in how much of pain he is right now, going such a long time without any pain relief.

The other man totally ignores Elio and bends over Oliver’s bed. “Whatever makes you happy Oli,” it doesn’t escape Elio’s attention that Oliver physically flinches at the sound of a nickname, his body sort of folding into itself. “I will see you soon.” He kisses Oliver on the mouth and whispers something into Oliver’s ear. And then he is gone.

“Are you okay?” Elio asks stupidly and hands Oliver his PCA. “You know there is no shame in asking for help when you need it, right?”

Oliver’s head is spinning and he feels like he might throw up. He realizes now that he ignored the pain for far too long, being knocked onto his arse spectacularly. He presses the button and doesn’t move from Elio’s reassuring hand, which quietly rests on his shoulder.

**° ° °**

It’s late in the afternoon when Elio finally manages to get home, feeling absolutely shattered. He says his hellos to Marzia and her boyfriend number two and he wonders if this month will be as successful as the previous one, ending with a boyfriend number five.

“I shall call it my exploratory period,” she explained to Elio one day, shrugging it off as it’s nothing. “My vagina is a hunter and she gets what she wants.”

Neither of them ever comments on the fact that Marzia’s exploratory period started straight after the failure of their poor dating attempt and has been going on for almost two years.

Elio sometimes thinks and wants to truly believe that he is ready to be a part of something bigger than his own solitude again, that he wants to _belong._ And somehow, it occurred to Elio that his closest childhood friend is his safest bet, that if there is somebody who would be able to shield Elio from the pain of his grey and monotonous everyday life it will be Marzia. How stupid he was. How cruel.

Elio isn’t afraid to be honest with himself in his own thoughts. He knows that the ability to love and let himself being loved left together with his parents, each of them claiming one big, broken chunk. Marzia said he was too selfish to commit to another human being, blaming him of not knowing what he wants, always with one foot at the door, ready to run.

_“What exactly are you running from Elio?”_

She knew Elio for so long and yet, she couldn’t be farther from the truth. He yearns for being able to feel something again, replace that terrifying numbness and emptiness, even if it means he will be hurting again.

Maybe Marzia didn’t care about him pretending that he isn’t dead inside when he kisses her, she always says that honesty is overrated anyway. But how could he ever look in the mirror again if their new relationship started with nothing but lies?

_“That might be the kindest thing anyone done for me in months.”_

Elio thinks about Oliver’s earlier words as he fishes out Tolstoy’s War and Peace from his rucksack. The librarian gave his skinny frame a sceptical look, joking about ruined posture and week’s worth of back pain and he wasn’t wrong. How brave you have to be to admit your own vulnerability just like Oliver did? It scares Elio how horribly lonely it sounds, how definite.

He thinks about Oliver’s boyfriend, the way Oliver’s body reacted to the nickname he used and Elio wishes he can do more, being truly helpful and realizes that he really wants to be Oliver’s friend once all this is over, if Oliver agrees and let him. It was only Elio and Marzia for such a long time and it seems that although not in a sense he first thought, he is finally ready to be part of something bigger and belong.


	4. Chapter 4

Elio quietly watches Marzia as she prepares their lunch, deep-frying the arancini in a big, battered pot. Elio’s chest aches with a sudden surge of sentiment and melancholy towards his childhood friend, she was always looking out for him, no matter how distant he became, how much they both changed. 

It makes him think about his _mamma_ , standing at the tiny kitchen in the flat they rented two months after her husband and Elio’s father passed away, trying and spectacularly failing in putting a brave face on. Elio feels horrible when he admits that all the struggle and suffering made her somehow even more beautiful in his eyes. Evergreen. Everlasting. 

“I like him, you know,” Elio says and nods when Marzia offers a little bowl of salad to go with his main course. He pours a big glass of an orange juice for both of them and sits down at the table.

Marzia mirrors his movements as she sits down across the table and Elio cannot miss a look of a pure scepticism, which disappears from her face almost as quickly as it appeared. 

“Don’t you dare to roll your eyes at me, Perlman,” she tells him laughing and stabs the air between them with her index finger as if prepared for a sword fight, “you never liked any of my boyfriends before.”

Elio knows she isn’t wrong. It was different back then when Elio thought he could love her. Meanwhile, it was this dark, insecure part of him, taking an advantage of his youth and all the suffering, whispering things he swore never to hear again. No matter how hard he tries to make the good things last, they all come to the very bitter end. 

“Well, I like Michael,” he shrugs and checks the clock on the microwave, which tells him, he has got two and half hours before his afternoon shift starts, “he really cares about you, I can tell. And I don’t think he is alone in this.”

“What do you know? We have only seen each other three times.” she scoffs but Elio notices she doesn’t try to change the topic and he takes it as a small, personal victory. 

“Exactly,  _tesoro mio_ ,” Elio smiles at her innocently, “when was the last time you have seen anybody more than once?” 

**°°°**

Oliver’s morning is equally bothersome and uneventful. Emma tells him that Elio’s shift doesn’t start until 15:00, smiling apologetically as she rushes out of the room. Oliver sees how short staffed and stressed they have been this morning, and he makes sure he doesn’t press his call bell at all. After his lunch, the physiotherapists pay him a visit and although he knows that some patients compare their approaches and exercises to the torture, he is absolutely thrilled to get out of the bed. 

He barely walks pass the reception to the other end of the ward, collapsing into a wheelchair, which they ever so helpfully kept behind his back, trusting their own professional experience over Oliver’s blind enthusiasm. 

“That was really good,” one of the physiotherapists tells him with a lovely, bright smile and Oliver is silently grateful that there is somebody, who keeps being positive in the moments like this one, when his own _always so happy_ mask slips off his face for a second or two, and he feels absolutely terrified of the future, “have a little breather and we try to walk back, okay?” 

Oliver feels as if he done his absolute worst, breathing like a horse at the end of the Grand National when they finally arrive back to his room. He is relieved when one of the nurses informs him, that with his improving mobility he doesn’t need a urinary catheter anymore. She pulls it out of his body with a professional expression, quietly handing back the pieces of his shattered dignity.

**°°°**

“Porca vacca!” Elio exclaims as he literally walks into an elderly gentleman while he takes a turn towards the ward. The bus was late again and he spent the last fifteen minutes of the journey biting on his already horrible looking nails, his anxiety raising by the seconds. He just hates being late. 

“Watch it, young man. I served in Italy long enough. My vocabulary of the swear words is maybe more extensive than yours,” the man in front of him tells him and jabs him in a calf with his walking stick.

It makes Elio laugh aloud and the man joins him as he accepts Elio’s offered arm to steady himself on his feet. 

“I left my bloody glasses at home,” he explains as he squints closer to the wall again, presumably trying to figure out their visiting hours, “and on the top of that I forgot to pack Oliver’s books. He is going to kill me.”

“Oliver?” Elio’s voice goes from tired to interested embarrassingly quickly. “As in Oliver Ulliva?”

“Yeah. Jewish boy. Rugby player. About this big,” he nods and Elio laughs again as the man in front of him estimates Oliver’s height and width of his shoulders, “my neighbour.”

“Oh, I thought you are his grandfather.” Elio says and as soon as the sentence is out of his mouth, he realizes, that the other man’s eyes are almost black in colour and he is barely 5'4.

The man smiles at him and Elio sees a brief reflection of what could perhaps be a long lost wish. They walk past the ward reception together and Elio shows him to Oliver’s room.

“It’s much worse, I’m his babysitter.” He tells Elio and makes sure that Oliver hears him as they walk into the room. 

Oliver’s little nap is disturbed by the voices, which suddenly seem somewhat louder and closer, and he wakes up to Elio and Mr Krajewski laughing together as they walk in and he quickly tries to save himself, pretending he didn’t fall asleep in his chair at all.

“It’s much worse, I’m his babysitter.” Mr Krajewski tells Elio and Oliver has to laugh as Elio’s eyebrows almost leave his forehead. Oh, come on, give me some more credit, Oliver thinks, because he could do responsible if he wanted to. There maybe was that one time when he lived on instant noodles for over the week, but nobody ever said that responsibility equals to being able to cook.

“Elio! Mr Krajewski!” Oliver thinks about standing up for a moment but decides it’s safer to stay sitting down for now. “How is my little boy Pushkin?”

“I refuse to call him that! It’s ridiculous.” The old man ruffles Oliver’s hair, giving him one long, considerate look. “You look so much better than the last time I saw you in the ITU. You will be home in no time.”

Oliver smiles and catches the other man’s hand, giving it a little, reassuring squeeze.

“He responds to Alexander Sergeyevich as well,” Oliver shrugs and sends Elio wordless thank you as he takes a heavy, cotton duffle bag from Mr Krajewski’s shoulder, putting it on Oliver’s bed.

“Do I have to remind you for how long we had to deal with the Russians usurping our home country? I refuse. It’s a stupid name for even more stupid cat!”

Oh, Oliver almost forgot how little it took to tease his very dear friend. He tries not to wince too openly as he pushes himself from the chair and stands up, wrapping Mr Krajewski in a brief but tight enough hug. “You know we wouldn’t be able to manage without you Damian. I hope you know how grateful I’m. Both of us really.”

Elio can tell the heat, which was barely ever there left the older man’s body almost immediately, with the corners of his eyes softening as Oliver’s arms found their way around his crooked shoulders, and the affection between two of them although hidden behind hardened exterior warmed Elio’s heart.

“Shut up, you big sap. Are you meant to be standing up on your own?” Mr Krajewski supports Oliver back to the chair and although Oliver knows that the difference in their physiques is undeniable he lets him anyway.

“I haven’t packed much. Too much fuss won’t do you any good. Just clean clothes and few other bits. Forgot your bloody books. Don’t shoot me! You didn’t tell me the titles you wanted me to bring and there were just so many of them. Your flat is basically built of books and cat food, son.”

What a dork, Elio thinks as he unpacks contents of Oliver’s duffle bag, and puts everything into his locker, making sure it’s all tidy and neat. He knows he should probably leave Oliver to his visitor now, but he can’t help and takes extra time in rearranging everything twice, so happy to know more about Oliver and things he likes, people he holds dear.

“Don’t worry about it. They will be waiting for me when I get back, it isn’t a big deal.” Oliver smiles at his friend, who now looking a bit tired, sits on Oliver’s hospital bed and picks an ancient looking flip phone from his pocket. 

Damian turns the little screen towards Oliver, and Elio stops in whatever he is pretending to be doing as the other man’s lips curl up in a smile, which is positively soul crushing in the way Elio never experienced before. 

“Come, Elio! Take a look.” Mr Krajewski prompts him with a hint of impatience and Elio moves his awkward limbs almost immediately, finding himself looking at very blurry picture of something what vaguely resembles a ginger cat.

“I took the picture this morning when I went to feed him. Told him to be still so Oliver can see I haven’t lost my temper with him just yet, and he is still in one piece. Bloody beast won’t listen unless I wave a treat at him. You know them tuna steaks cans? They are his absolute favourite.”

Elio sits quietly next to Mr Krajewski as he continues to describe his adventures with Oliver’s cat that he obviously became very fond of. Elio’s eyes find Oliver’s and they make him think about prince Paris. What was the beauty of Helen against this shade of blue?

**°°°**

The rest of Elio’s shift passes in a blur of being incredibly busy, and although he is grateful he is learning new skills and gaining more knowledge he is painfully aware of how much time he spends thinking about Oliver and the fact they barely spoke to each other today.

He spends the full 30 minutes of his break thinking how ridiculous he is and how unprofessional. Can’t anybody around see the way he feels? Theoretically, he knows he isn’t doing anything wrong, not really, he makes sure he spends an equal time with all of the patients but he definitely doesn’t think about any of them when off duty or when he should working on something else.

Elio likes Oliver, there is no point at even trying to deny the fact, but the thing he doesn’t understand is how somebody, who he only met couple of days ago can influence his whole being this much. Was he supposed to be excited about it or scared?

He wasn’t sure what would happen next week when Oliver will be discharged from hospital and if anything from what they promised to each other will come to life. But Elio knows he is ready to put up a fight if necessary.

 **°°°**  

It’s almost 21:00 when Elio knocks at Oliver’s door. Oliver isn’t doing anything in particular; he is still sitting in the chair, quietly staring from the window. Elio wonders what it is that Oliver sees and he cannot. It’s already pitch black outside.

“Busy afternoon?” he asks Elio and prompts him to sit on the bed.

“You have no idea. My phone says 18 000 steps busy.”

Oliver whistles loudly in genuine appreciation. “Meanwhile I have done absolute zero today, my body and mind are happily rotting away.”

“Don't be stupid,” Elio smiles and prods Oliver’s pillow with his finger, “you are recovering from a major surgery. It will take time. You either accept it or set yourself back. Your choice.”

Oliver wants to reply with something awfully clever but he knows that Elio is right. No matter of how much he decides to sulk and mope it’s not going to change the fact that at the end he will have to grow a pair and soldier through. The problems is, even at best of times, Oliver wasn’t a patient man.

“But the second matter. I think I can help you with that.” Elio says and hands him a tiny book, which is covered in a lovely vintage book cover.

“Pierre and Luce?” Oliver’s huge hand strokes the cover of the book tentatively, and Elio finds the gesture oddly intimate, “I wouldn’t pin you down as Romain Rolland’s reader.”

“It’s my bus book,” Elio explains plainly, “two weeks ago I would have been throwing Charlotte Brontë at you.”

“Don’t you just love Jane Eyre? I remember being thirteen, and the thoughts about Mr Rochester would keep me busy all night.” Oliver winks at Elio, and his eyes smile with a long lost memory. “Brontë wrote them so sexually frustrated it’s insanely hot.”

“Hotter than Pushkin? You definitely like your Russians,” Elio smiles and tries to ignore the way Oliver’s hand continues to molest his book.

“Perhaps we are both into the romantic tragedies of epic proportions?” He tells Elio, looking at the little book.

Why isn’t Elio surprised Oliver already read it? “I could bring you something else tomorrow? What do you feel like reading?”

Oliver can definitely feel his cheeks burning a little, oh God, the last thing he wants is to come across as ungrateful prat. Jeremy never cared for Oliver’s passion for reading and books. Oliver feels embarrassed when he thinks how blindly he listened to his ex boyfriend when he told him he has to store his books elsewhere but in the flat, because he won’t have any spare time for reading anyway. He can’t believe how happily he let Jeremy to entirely monopolize his time, how easily one by one he let go of things he loved the most. “No, that’s not what I meant. This is great Elio,” he smiles and he feels a bit clumsy when he covers Elio’s much smaller hand on the top of the bed with his own, “this means a lot. Much more than you think. Thank you.”

Elio isn’t sure why, but his throat is suddenly dry to the point that he struggles with the reply. “Good,” he says stupidly and it comes out as nothing more than a whisper, “I like to see you happy.” 

“Elio! You coming?” Emma walks in, smiling at them both, completely ignoring the way Elio’s hand flies away from under Oliver’s, “I promised you a lift. Can’t wait to meet your Marzia.”

She pulls Elio up by both hands and gives Oliver a little, not so apologetical smile, “you will have him back tomorrow. Until then, he is mine.”

Oliver enjoys the way Elio’s cheeks burn with absolutely adorable blush, and it makes him wonder how far down the boy’s body it goes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening everyone ☺
> 
> Comment under the previous chapter made me realize that I definitely forgot to add 'slow burn' into the story's tags. I want to therefore apologize to anybody who perhaps started to read the story and found it too slow or boring for their taste. I'm sorry the tags are fixed now. Let's just say that writing this story is my form of therapy and relaxation and as it is I have nowhere to rush. Why Oliver and Elio should ^^ ?
> 
> Once again, thank you for every comment and kudos. They make me extremely happy. 
> 
> Have a lovely weekend. 
> 
> Gia xx

Elio isn’t entirely sure _how_ , but finds himself squeezed between Marzia, Emma and about hundred cushions of various sizes and shapes, about which he didn’t have any idea they owned. The entire living room is similar to some exquisite snippet of a Mad Hatter’s tea party, with Marzia lip singing to Patsy Cline’s _Crazy_ , while serving a Damiana tea and a generous triangle of a homemade sbrisolona. At least he made the cake himself and knows it’s safe to eat it with tomorrow’s working day in sight. Marzia’s baking was ever so benevolent, never making too much fuss about the accuracy of the ingredients going in. 

 _“Are you really sure the recipe says cardamom, tesoro mio? I don’t think we bought any,” she shrugs her shoulders innocently, using another tablespoon of cannabis instead._

Seriously, the girl should have her own TV show. _Marzia’s bake off_. People across the globe would dig it.

“No, honestly, Marzia,” Emma’s laughing voice brings Elio back into the reality, and he is absolutely positive that the next time the two girls see each other again, there will be swapping of handmade friendship bracelets involved, “he is behaving like a true gentleman.” Emma winks at him and there is a splash of shyness in her cheeks. “Plus, even if I wanted to, I can’t compete with O-L-I-V-E-R,” she giggles again, spelling Oliver’s name letter by letter for emphasis.

Marzia with her head comfortably settled in Elio’s lap moves a bit and there is suddenly an awful lot of passive aggressive smoke covering his stunned face. “Who is this _Oliver_ person? Why I know nothing about this? Elio!” Her voice is childlike almost a whine and Marzia stomps her left foot against the wooden floor for effect.

“I refuse to gossip. You two ganged up on me!" Elio holds his hands up in surrender and remains silent.

Emma stretches her long, lean legs across Marzia’s and props her head with a bright green pillow. She blinks once or twice and it seems to Elio as if in slow motion, the tip of her tongue wetting her pretty, red painted lips, “O Oliver! Why are you Oliver?” She smiles at Elio so bright and happy that he can’t even try to be mad at her. “Oliver is Elio’s new crush.”

“Sul serio?!” Marzia turns her head around and kisses his bony knee. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? What is he like?”

Elio’s fingers stop running through Marzia’s tangled hair just for a moment as he sighs quietly. He knows Marzia could be everything but judgemental, but he never really showed any interest in fancying blokes before. Perhaps Elio thought she would find it weird? Hell, Elio thinks it’s little bit odd himself. Or simply because whatever he discovered about himself was still so very fragile and brand new that Elio doesn’t know how to feel or what to think? Maybe because he was scared what it means for him and Marzia and things they were never able to say to each other aloud.

“He is just so different you know?” Elio tries to explain and looks somewhere behind Emma and Marzia, somewhere where nobody else can follow. “Imagine this brilliant creature, who walks around and quotes Tolstoy but isn’t afraid to show his very acute and real vulnerability. And I think he gets me, you know?”

“His weird matches your weird,” Emma translates for all of them ever so helpfully.

“Yeah,” the realization suddenly hits Elio square in the middle of his chest, “his weird matches my weird.”

Marzia squeezes his hand ever so lightly almost as she couldn’t stop herself. “Look at you! I never seen you this smitten!”

“It doesn’t hurt he is also somewhat a peak of human perfection with an incredibly hot shoulders to waist ratio.” Emma whispers dreamily and bites on her cake.

Elio knows he is blushing under Marzia’s direct gaze and thinks that perhaps he should have coated his poor nerves in something stronger before their night started. “It’s nothing like that. He has a boyfriend anyway. Well, at least I think he has. Sort of,” Elio knows he is jumping ahead of time, Oliver and him were nowhere near that territory yet, shame on the girls for being so cruel, making it sound as Oliver would ever consider him more than a scrawny, little kid, “but I think we are going to be really good friends. That. Yeah, definitely.”

Marzia doesn’t respond to that but exchanges a little, secretive look with her newly founded ally. She tried for so long, praying for Elio to find the peace in his soul strong enough to erase the feeling of an absolute condemnation he bathed himself in every time he thought about his parents. She was trying her best but it wasn’t really that much. Marzia knows she failed in many things, forcing Elio into the relationship he never wanted to be in was definitely on the top of the list. But the change she noticed in Elio during those last few days gave her hope she thought was long lost. So, whoever was this Oliver to Elio, she knew she should pray for him as well.

**° ° °**

Oliver squinted a little bit closer towards the tiny letters; the light from the lamp above the bed was definitely not meant for reading. His mobile phone chimes with an incoming message and a little part of Oliver feels a thrill of something very close to happiness, Jeremy wasn’t this attentive in years. Fifth message in the last hour.

**_i’m sorry i didn’t come to see you. things have been crazy._ **

**_spoke to your mother. she said you are being discharged next week, is that right?_ **

**_is this you ignoring me? how mature._ **

**_i guess i deserve it? but you should know i miss you, ok? don’t you ever doubt that._ **

**_and you know you always come back to me. you know we meant to be together. no matter what._ **

Three months and Oliver almost forgot about Jeremy’s complete disregard for the capital letters and how it had his otherwise calm personality on the edge within mere seconds. He isn't going to write back, not yet anyway. Yes, Oliver misses Jeremy; the phantom pain is always somewhat present. But he is also slowly accepting that if his ex boyfriend didn't end things between them for good, Oliver would be still trapped in the middle of all that misery. How can he know if the sentiment behind Jeremy’s words is even half genuine? Oliver knows perhaps more than anybody else how incredibly charming and irresistible the other man can be if he choses to. The sad truth was that once the chase was over and Jeremy got what he wanted and the initial excitement wore off, he didn’t bother with pretending and keeping his masks up and finally showed himself in his true and not so pretty colours.

Instead of replying to Jeremy, Oliver opens the new message window and types in the number, which was always secure in his otherwise not so great memory. Almost whole year passed since he last spoke to Sammy. Or since they shouted at each other like two lunatics for hours, which ended up with Sammy walking out of his life claiming she refuses to be part of Jeremy’s twisted show. Oliver shivers as he recalls the despair of her voice when his best friend tried to explain that all she ever wanted was for Oliver to listen and try to see how much of control over his life Jeremy has.

_“Didn’t she do enough already, Oli? How is the way you spend your time and money even her business? I’m so fucking tired of this nosy bitch and her ultimatums. Fine! Do you think she finally shuts up if I leave you? Let’s try and see. I always knew she had hots for you, just waiting to seize an opportunity and finally get you between her legs.”_

Oliver also remembers how he had to beg on his knees for hours to convince Jeremy that he always will be Oliver’s priority, no matter what other people say. He remembers how many presents he had to buy to keep his lover satisfied. Why is it that only now it feels as a blindfold was lifted from his eyes? Why did it have to take years for him to accept he was being abused?

 _Hi Sammy_ , he starts his text message with but doesn’t really know how to continue. Oliver doesn’t want to bring his and Jeremy’s break up into this because things were just so messed up right now that he doesn’t really know where they stand. No, this should be about him and his best friend. More than anything, he doesn’t wish to guilt trip Sammy with the operation and the fact he is in hospital either, Oliver just wants to… apologize, yeah, let’s go with that.

**_Hi Sammy. A good friend of mine lent me this book you would absolutely despise for its cliché. Two lovers are killed at the end of it because life is apparently a bitch and happily ever after is not for everybody. So I was thinking, in a case there is an event, which results in me being crushed to death by a massive pier I want you to know that I’m sorry. Miss you every day. And love you, always. Oliver_ **

Oliver deletes Jeremy’s messages and there is a feel of an immense relief flooding through his veins as he blocks his ex boyfriend’s telephone number.

**° ° °**

Mandy talks Elio through while she disconnects Oliver from the PCA pump and he knows that this is very important and interesting topic but finds that he is almost hypnotised by the soft curve of Oliver’s smile.

“This is good news. You will be going home soon,” Elio explains with his body half way out of the room, helping Mandy to dispose of things they don’t need.

She is already gone and sitting in her little office again, but Elio can still hear her telling him off. “Don’t get too excited, pretty boy. I’m the one who has to agree with Oliver’s discharge and I’m not saying yes until I’m sure he is ready.”

Elio rolls his eyes and walks back into Oliver’s room. It’s great to see his friend out of the bed and walking.

“Would you believe it? Poor old man doesn’t have the foggiest about colour coordination.” Oliver sighs and gives up rummaging through his locker and drawers because apparently none of the clothes Damian brought could be worn together without screaming _fashion disaster_. He huffs and puffs some more but he really feels ridiculous more than anything, standing there in his well-worn green sweatpants and bright pink t-shirt.

“You realize I’m only taking you down the canteen, right?” Elio spins the wheelchair around and gives Oliver a split second once-over. “I think it looks nice.” You always look nice, Elio thinks but isn’t brave enough to speak up.

Oliver knows he is being childish but he hasn’t been out of a hospital environment for so long and yes, the canteen is still technically a part of the hospital, but it counts for something, right? He walks slowly towards Elio and it’s stupid thought but he realizes that this is the first time he isn’t being wheeled around or stuck in a bed for hours and he is quite in awe with the difference in their heights. Oliver thinks about Elio, the mystery of the boy in front of him as he looks up at Oliver and he is certain he can see few hazel coloured specks in the green of his irises. How odd, Oliver ponders, that someone looking so delicate and almost childlike is able to reach to him in moments he needs it the most and ground him in the way that convinces Oliver that no matter how shitty it all looks right now, he will get through it and he will survive.

“Wow,” the word leaves Elio’s lips on exhale and Oliver tracks the way they change the shape around the letters with his eyes, “you really _are_ tall.” Tall enough for my head to rest on your shoulder just right, he wants to add but stays quiet.

Oliver shakes his head when Elio turns the wheelchair around to face him. “Remember? We made a deal. I walk as far as I can on my own, and if it gets too much, we will use this. Not the other way around.”

“You are going to get me in so much trouble, you stubborn goat!” Elio tells Oliver and can’t help but checks on his friend almost constantly as they walk out to the main corridor.

**° ° °**

They didn’t stay in the canteen too long, it was too loud and busy for any form of decent conversation. Elio found a little bench near one of the hospital entrances and they decided to sit there instead, their faces bathing in a luxurious heat of the midday sun.

“This was such a good idea,” Elio sighs contently, “don’t you just love it? The silence and peace?”

Oliver takes a sip of his strawberry smoothie and doesn’t bother to open his eyes. “We should just stay here. They won’t even notice we aren’t back.”

“Oh, Emma would. She looks all pretty and innocent but I’m telling you, she is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Little usurper.”

Oliver blinks his eyes open, the sun is making him squint and he is sure he looks silly without his sunglasses, yet he finds Elio looking at him with the most intent gaze. “You didn’t tell me how your yesterday’s little get together went? Amuse me. I’m nothing but an old bored man. Zero social life.”

“Sure. You are practically a fossil. Trilobite.” Elio’s finger jabs at Oliver’s biceps as he laughs playfully. “It was good. I think more than that. You know, Marzia and me, we sort of grew apart for a while and it was so goddam difficult, I hated every single second of it. But I think we can actually be the way we once were. It will take time but I know we can fix this. So, yeah, it was great. And she is looking forward to meet you.” 

“So you were gossiping about me, hmm?” Oliver isn’t looking at Elio as he closed his eyes again, easily lulled by the ease of their conversation, but he is almost certain Elio is blushing now, lovely rosy flush colouring his cheeks. “I thought better of you Elio! Who would think you could lower to something so commonplace.” 

“What?” Elio is stuttering and hates himself how flustered and embarrassed he sounds and feels. “If you have to know it was Emma, not me!” Elio feels a little bit bad for throwing Emma under the bus so easily but what was he meant to say?

Oliver doesn’t say anything but his cocked eyebrows and broad smile speak volumes for themselves.

Elio eye rolls him as he shuffles to the opposite end of the bench. “There,” he points at the newly gained distance between them, “enough of space for you and your XXL ego?”

Oliver tries to stretch over but Elio quickly closes the distance between them again, worried about other man’s wound. It’s rushed and little awkward and they meet in the middle, Oliver’s thigh pressed firmly against Elio’s. Oliver brings his arm up once again, tousling Elio’s already messy hair. “O Elio! Why are you Elio?”


	6. Chapter 6

The occupational therapist shakes Oliver’s hand and acknowledges Elio with a little nod. He isn’t sure what the protocol has to say about this, but Elio reassured Oliver it was allowed and he felt so much better, having a familiar face in the room. 

“In normal circumstances I would have completed the assessment prior to your operation, but that obviously wasn’t possible.” The corners of her lips lift up in a polite, impersonal smile and Oliver notices the way her gaze lowers to his chest for a couple of seconds. “The main purpose of this all is to make sure that you are ready to be discharged and have all relevant support in place.”

The woman – Karen, Oliver reads on her name badge waves at him with a thick stack of papers and he can tell he isn’t the only one, who wishes to be anywhere else but here. “What kind of property do you live in? Does it have the stairs?” 

“I live in a ground floor flat. No stairs.”

She ticks some of the boxes in her paperwork and nods. “Good, that will make your recovery a little bit easier. However, I’m sure the physiotherapist told you that passing your stairs assessment is necessary for your discharge.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.”

“Do you get short of breath while walking on a flat surface?”

Oliver wants to reply with no, but then what was the point in lying? “Sometimes?” He knows he sounds as uncertain as he feels and Oliver isn’t sure why was it so damn hard. Who cares he used to run 10K twice a day? She isn’t here to judge.

“Many patients after cardiac surgery struggle with getting up from a chair if it’s too low. Do you think you will experience this at home? Do you own a chair in which you think you can sit and get up from comfortably? What about your toilet?” Karen stops for a moment, eyeing Oliver quietly and he wonders if she sees him as slow or simply just dumb. “We can provide you with an additional equipment, which will make it as easy as possible. Nothing to worry about.”

Oliver almost laughs at her face. Professional athlete, who needs help to get up from the toilet after taking a crap. Nothing to worry about. “I can manage. I’m sure you have patients, who need your _equipment_ far more than I do.” He registers Elio in a corner of his eye; he exhales in a loud puff as if he is about to say something – probably protest, but thankfully remains silent.

“Your sternum will take good three months to heal. It is crucial that you avoid any lifting, pulling and pushing for at least six weeks. Do you have a family, which will support you or would you consider the help of the healthcare assistants?” 

“I think I already mentioned I can manage.” Oliver tells her sternly.

“It’s not about you managing, Oliver. You have to understand that your breastbone is broken – yes, it was broken in a controlled manner, but the result is still the same and it needs the time to heal. And by that I mean that you can’t drive, hoover or carry heavy shopping.” Karen takes her glasses off and rubs on her tired eyes. She smiles at Oliver and it seems more genuine this time. “I need to know that you have somebody to take care of you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Oliver knows it shouldn’t be such a big deal to lie to her, but his mouth suddenly feels uncomfortably dry. “My mother and my boyfriend will be happy to help me.”

She nods and continues where she left off with her writing. “That sounds much better, I’m happy with that. Remember that you can always contact me if your circumstances change and you feel like you need an additional support.”

There. It was over and Oliver could breathe once again.

**° ° °**

Elio’s willpower lasts approximately five minutes even if he tries his hardest and end up biting on the inside of his cheek. He knows he isn’t playing fair, but so be it. “You didn’t tell me your mum is flying over from the States?”

Oliver ignores him, but Elio registers the change in him, the previous anxiety being slowly replaced by anger and frustration.

“You also told me the things between you and Jeremy are complicated,” Elio presses some more and hate himself for it. “How exactly are you planning to get help?”

Oliver’s steps come to halt so suddenly that Elio almost walks into him. He turns around and Elio knows that the stormy blue in Oliver’s eyes should probably push on his self-preservation’s buttons, but he was never one to back off from the fight.

“Come on,” his eyes meet Oliver’s stare head on while every rational part of him is blaring in red, telling him that this isn’t a type of conversation they should have in the middle of a hospital corridor with Elio wearing his student uniform. “Just say it and get it over with.”

“It’s none of your business,” Oliver nothing less but growls at him and yes his impressive body mass makes it a little bit terrifying, but there is also something in his demeanour, which makes Elio think about the lion he remembers seeing very long time ago in one of those old-fashioned Italian circuses. The handler was guiding the beast to jump through the ring of fire and Elio although not older than five years had enough of empathy to understand how scared the animal was, trying to make its huge body somewhat invisible, while seemingly aggressive and lashing out. “There. I said my bit so let it go.”

“You said your bit and now it’s my turn, champ.” Oliver blinks awkwardly, when Elio’s finger goes from the left to the right in front of his face and whatever he is about to say dies silently as he swallows against the dryness in his mouth. “One,” the finger is still there and taps in the middle of Oliver’s chest, right where his wound is, “you know those ridiculously inspirational quotes from the Facebook? Friendship isn't about whom you have known the longest. It's about who came, and never left your side blah, blah, blah? That’s basically me in a nutshell. Cheesier than quattro formaggio.”

The truth is that everybody has a breaking point. Oliver went through an extremely traumatic experience seemingly unfazed and although his life was literally turned upside down and shook repeatedly for a good measure, he managed to keep the Mr Brave mask on as if it was the only one in his repertoire. It is going to fall sooner or later and it’s going to fall hard. Elio is prepared to be in Oliver’s corner whenever it happens and he will stand his ground even if it means the other man will hate him for it.

Oliver rubs on his temples in a frustrated gesture and his whole body language is one big, defensive stance. “Elio-“

“Nope,” Elio cuts Oliver straight off, making sure he pops the p extra loud, “the last time I checked I wasn’t finished yet. Which brings us - ladies and gentlemen to the number two. Even if I didn’t care about you on a personal level as my friend, how shitty student nurse would that make me if I completely fail in a safeguarding of my patient? Give me some goddamn credit, you goat!” 

Oliver just stands there, feeling like an exposed nerve, which is being constantly irritated. He knows that Elio is only trying to be helpful, but Oliver doesn’t exactly have a good record with people, who claimed they were helping him in the past and everything inside him tells him to protect himself and push away. But Elio won’t shut up.

“You only mentioned your mother couple of times, and Oliver I respect your privacy, believe me I do, but you never gave me an impression that your relationship with her goes beyond the polite necessities. I just want to know that what you said to Karen was true.” Elio’s blood is boiling again, he hates compliancy more than English cuisine and he is sure the cow wouldn’t move her little finger if Oliver had a full-blown mental breakdown right there at her feet. 

“Since you seem to be on a roll don’t let me stop you, Elio,” Oliver spits out and Elio never heard his voice sounding so angry and broken before. “Just politely point out that I’m a grown ass man with mommy issues.”

“And so what Oliver?” Elio’s voice is shaking now and he wants to rip whoever manage to put these insecurities in Oliver’s head apart. “I suffer with the PTSD, because I cared for my mother while she was riddled with cancer for months.”

“That’s so fucking unfair Elio,” and there it is, Oliver’s hand – big and warm and reaching out, but Elio swats at it impatiently.

“This isn’t about me and my mommy issues, remember? I suppose, we both have enough of emotional baggage to fill up a medium size theatre for people to enjoy themselves on a boring Saturday evening, yada, yada and that’s ok. I don’t know much about your mother, but I’m sure as hell that not everybody with a vagina should be a parent. Oh God, just tell me you will be looked after and I get off you back.”

Oliver isn’t sure what to think or what to do. He always pictured Elio as such a docile and gentle soul, yet the fiery monologue he just witnessed had him positively stunned and perhaps little turned on. There weren’t many people in Oliver’s life, who would genuinely care for him without their hand already stretching out and grabbing for much bigger piece in a return. There was his grandfather and Sammy. And apparently there was Elio now.

**° ° °**

Oliver observes Elio as he puts full three packets of sugar into already terribly sweet hot chocolate and swirls the cheap, plastic cup around. The canteen is closed and the only thing they were able to find was the one pound hot drink vending machine.

“I feel like one of us should say something, otherwise it’s going to get really awkward really quickly,” Elio tells him and he feels somewhat smaller and deflated. He feels oddly vulnerable with all the previous confidence out of the window, looking everywhere but the man sitting across the table.

“It made me realize you really are half Italian,” Oliver offers and Elio looks at him at last, peeking curiously from beneath a curtain of the dark curls, “all the fiery passion, very interesting reference to the quattro formaggio and then there was the finger in my face. If everything else failed, the finger definitely convinced me over.”

“Do you think taking a mick out of my ancestry is funny?” Elio tries to hold his poker face, but Oliver’s full-face grin is very hard to compete with. “Yeah, Marzia told me I have to cut down on my terrible pizza puns. Not cool.”

“I should apologize,” Oliver goes from carefree teasing to Mr I’m all seriousness and maturity within seconds and the blue of his gaze glues Elio on the spot.

So this is what it feels like? Having an undivided attention of one and only Oliver Ulliva on you. Elio wiggles around his seat awkwardly, suddenly aware how patronizing, and over the top it must have seemed to Oliver.

“I’m sorry if I came across as rude. Or as if your concern about me didn’t matter,” Oliver doesn’t say anything else for a while, lazily stirring at his black coffee, “I uhm… I’m not very good at this.” 

“I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes.” Elio smiles more for himself than Oliver. The expression on Oliver’s face has confusion written all over it and it breaks Elio’s heart that he really thinks so little about himself. “I know we don’t know each other for that long, but Oliver you showed me nothing but kindness and humanity. Remember how many times I managed to stuck the dressing over your unshaved bit of chest hair and gave you a free waxing? You never complained or showed any impatience. Or that one time I took your cannula out and didn’t apply enough of pressure and Mandy was having a go at me, because you poor thing, you were bleeding all over my scrubs and what did you do? Shrugged your shoulders like it was nothing and told Mandy you are a _bleeder_ -“

“Elio, that’s called being a decent human-“

“See, you are doing it again. Downplaying how nice you are,” Elio notices the full blown blush, which sits high on Oliver’s cheeks and he thinks _adorable_ , can this man be any more adorable, “and you never mind if John comes to your room, God, you should see the other patients they can’t stand the sight of him, but it’s not his fault that he suffers with dementia and talks about the same old shit all day long is it, and you let him sit with you for hours… and you speak to him and treat him like he truly matters, because of course he does and Oliver, just… please, let me return the kindness.”   

“You know you are sort of killing me right now, yes?” Oliver hides his tomato face behind his hands and Elio - always so stupid and powered by emotions and impulses more than anything else grabs on his wrists and forces Oliver’s hands on the table.

Good, Elio thinks. I will tell you how amazing you are every single day until you learn to like yourself.

“My mother isn’t coming over,” Oliver’s voice is barely a whisper as he looks at Elio’s hands on the top of his own. He entwines their fingers and the coldness of Elio’s skin startles him, because how can somebody with such a warm heart have such a cold hands? “And I haven’t really spoke to Jeremy about me going home either.” 

Elio’s eyes widen half in shock, half in absolute pleasure as Oliver guides Elio’s hands towards his lips and blows a puff of a hot air over his skin. He has to keep himself from outright moaning, biting on his dry lips with such a force he tastes blood.

“But Sammy, you remember Sammy?” Oliver looks up from where his lips are acting like Elio’s personal, portable heating and Elio prays he looks normal and not as somebody, who will replay this moment while jerking off in a privacy of his bedroom. “She called me the day after I messaged her and I don’t know we just sort of picked up where we left off like nothing even happened. Anyway,” Oliver is lost in his thoughts for a second and Elio is sure he dies little when he feels the light brush of Oliver’s lips over his knuckles, “she is on this important business trip, but promised to help me from 15th when she is back so you see, I won’t be alone.”

Oliver lowers their still entwined hands on the table, but doesn’t let go yet. Elio just stares at him completely undone and wonders how he can just go on with his life like nothing happened, how he can survive without loosing the remains of his sanity.

“That’s amazing, I’m really happy you guys are talking again,” Elio beams at Oliver and tries to ignore the pang of regret when Oliver’s hands let go of his and wrap around the cup of coffee instead. “But we both know you are going home on 8th.”

“Well, I have Damian,” Oliver tells him in a tone one uses to speak to very small children. Like it’s something so very simple and obvious and Elio should know that, “so he will help out.”

“He is like thousand years old. You can’t expect him to do your cleaning and I’m sure he will make you eat goose fat straight from the jar to fatten you up, because that’s what they used to do, back in a day and-“

Oliver can’t help himself and laughs aloud, a deep warm laugh sprouting from somewhere deep inside his stomach and realizes that he always smiles and laugh around Elio. “There is something called a ready meal so-“

“Yeah with a dash of cardiovascular diseases and sprinkle of cancer,” Elio eye rolls him and quickly checks his calendar app. “Right, I’m going to book my study week and help you out. And I don’t take no for an answer.”

“There is nothing I can do to make you change your mind is there?” Oliver shakes his head in disbelief but doesn’t stop smiling.

“Nah, I’m sticking around. So… two days to go?”

“Yeah,” Oliver confirms quietly, “two days to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, beautiful people ☺
> 
> I just needed some overprotective Elio in my life and this sort of happened.
> 
> Haters gonna hate, but I hope you enjoyed xx.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Saturday afternoon ☺.
> 
> I apologise for longer gaps between the chapters - essays, exams, placement and work caught up with me and I don't know what's going on anymore. 
> 
> I wrote this chapter between the bus rides and boring anatomy lectures so excuse all the mistakes as you always do. Thank you!
> 
> Emma is a good kid.

Elio wakes up from his little nap just as the bus is about to stop at its final stop in front of the hospital. He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth, as it’s only him and the bus driver on otherwise empty bus. He flashes the other man with a sleepy smile and they wish each other a good day. 

Emma is waving at him from down the corridor and he fights another yawn. It was so damn early.

“Morning, sleeping beauty!” She pushes the elevator button and sways on her feet slightly as she turns around to face Elio.

“I hate this _I’m such a morning person_ side of you,” he huffs tiredly, but smiles at Emma nonetheless, “how are you this perfect human being, huh? Hardworking, never unhappy and smiling even in this unholy morning hour. I rolled out of my bed and that’s as much of an effort I had gathered.” He follows his friend into the elevator, finishing the last sip of his coffee. Elio never really liked the taste of the coffee, but it does the job and keeps him awake. Priorities.

“Oh honey,” Emma smiles at him as she rummages through her ridiculously big bag. Honestly, Elio is convinced she could hide a dead body in there and nobody would ever know. She waves a hairbrush in front of his face triumphantly and starts working on his bed head, “this,” she tells him as she vaguely points at herself, “is all fake. I’m all tired and dead inside, but I just love how it pisses the others off if I’m permanently chirpy and happy. It makes my bloody day.”

Elio nods, because his higher brain functions aren’t apparently switched on yet, and let himself being ushered out of the elevator. Emma dabs some lip balm on his lips, they are dry all the time nowadays, the air-con on the ward doesn’t agree with Elio’s sensitive skin.

“There,” she tells him as she tries to smooth some creases out of his uniform, “Oliver will think he is still asleep, one of his wet dreams just casually walking through the door.” She winks at Elio and helps him to find the way into the staff room.

°°°

“Where is Oliver?” Emma whispers to Elio as she flips her handover sheet over again.

Elio isn’t really able to keep up with all the changes from the night duty staff, and loses the will to live half way through the handover. “What do you mean?” He asks uselessly as he stares at the new name allocated besides the room number three. Elio tries to convince himself that there isn’t any reason to panic, but the heart, which is relentlessly hammering against his rib cage, tells him otherwise. Nor him or Emma were working yesterday afternoon and the possibilities of what could have happened to Oliver make Elio’s overwhelmed mind spin.

“We have a new admission in the room number three, sixty-eight years old lady-“

“Sorry to interrupt, Chelsea, but what happened with Mr Ulliva?” Elio knows Emma isn’t sorry one bit, and he has a suspicion that her interruption has something to do with the fact that his hands won’t stop shaking, causing him to drop the handover sheet for a fifth time in the last five minutes.

“Oliver?” Chelsea looks up from the handover sheet for a split second and Emma gets it, she is tired after the night shift, but for God’s sake the girl could be thick. How many Mr Ullivas one meets in the lifetime? “He was discharged. Yesterday, around seven o’clock in the evening.”

Emma’s eyes search for Elio’s, but he ignores her, his bottom lip trembles slightly and the stark difference in its almost blood like colour stands up against the rest of his unnaturally pale face and makes Emma look up to her colleague again, pleading for any kind of help.

“He asked and Miss Saw agreed as he has got enough of family members and friends to support him.” Chelsea offers and mouths silent sorry at Emma’s direction.

Elio doesn’t really try to stop an ugly, bitter chuckle, which bubbles at the back of his throat. “That’s great. Fantastic even.” His stare prompts Chelsea to fly through the rest of the report in the record time.

**°°°**

Emma tries her luck with people she knew were on shift yesterday afternoon, but even their receptionist, who is basically walking, talking Yellow Pages of the newest gossip doesn’t know about any note left behind by Oliver. It doesn’t sit with an image of Oliver in Emma’s head, she wasn’t born yesterday, but she knows genuineness when she sees it and she truly believes that perhaps Oliver wasn’t imaging himself and Elio riding off into the sunset together – not yet anyway, but his investment in their newly found friendship was definitely  _there_.

Elio did his best and all Emma’s attempts to make him stop for a second and just talk were met with million excuses and Elio hiding behind the manic morning routine. She manages to corner him and asks him to give her a hand with Enid, help he can’t really refuse. Enid is ninety-two years old lady, who suffers with dementia and Emma and Elio absolutely adore her. The elderly lady always manages to make them laugh, no matter how miserably their day went. 

“What’s with the sour faces, my flowerpots?” Enid smiles sheepishly as they support her with a personal care, “this is so unlike you two. I mean I’m the one who is almost whole century old, bed-ridden and full of dementia, but jeez, Elio, your face gives me the whole new level of anxieties.”

“I’m sorry, Enid. I didn’t sleep well.” Elio has a decency to blush as he lies and forces his lips into stiff, unnatural smile.

“Can you smell it?” Emma asks Enid and ignores Elio’s questioning look. “Bullshit. Mountains of it. EVERYWHERE.” She fans her hand in front of her nose for emphasis.

Elio rolls his eyes at her, but can’t resist laughing Enid and the corners of his mouth curls into a small smile.

“Oh! Is this about Elio’s sweetheart? Oliver, right? Did you two quarrel over something silly?” Enid’s soft hand covers Elio’s and he wants to tell Emma off big time, but doesn’t have it in him, not with Enid sincere, green gaze on him. “Me and Thomas had our share of misunderstandings and look, we spent sixty beautiful years together.”

“Oliver isn’t my -,” Elio sighs suddenly unbelievably tired and puts Enid’s toiletries where they belong while on autopilot, “my anything really.” To admit it aloud, it sounds as much pathetic as it hurts – visceral, inward feeling, which doesn’t go away no matter how hard he tells himself that it doesn’t really matter.

“Are you sure? Have you seen the man? He is absolutely gorgeous.” Enid shrugs and playfully winks at Emma. “And it doesn’t hurt he has a good heart too. He came to say goodbye yesterday, you know? Sister came around with him and I bet my money that under that hard exterior she actually fancies him little bit.”

“Mandy!” Emma laughs out loud and kisses Enid’s cheeks. She completely forgot that the woman was working yesterday. Must have been overtime. Of course Oliver wouldn’t leave anything with the receptionist, he has more of a class than that. “Of course Mandy was here!”

**°°°**

Elio doesn’t protest when Emma drags him across the ward and manhandles him into a storeroom. “What’s the time?” She asks him, grinning like a lunatic.

“There is a fob watch hanging in the middle of your chest, you know,” Elio utters and he doesn’t understand it himself, why is he so bloody miserable over the fact that Oliver left without saying goodbye, left knowing there isn’t any way they can contact each other.

“You need to stop moping. Because there isn’t anything to mope about.” Emma smiles as she caresses Elio’s cheek. “Mandy’s meeting will be over in five minutes. Come on!” Elio doesn’t understand Emma’s train of thought and eventually gives up and follows her into Mandy’s office. They knew better than disturb her during one of the meetings so they just awkwardly stand at the door.

“Look, there are things, which need doing. I-“ 

“Shut up. You were avoiding me so effectively this morning that you finished everything before ten o’clock. I’m trying to help you out, okay? It’s physically painful to see you so heartbroken.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’m not-“

“No swearing near my sensitive ears, Mr Perlman,” there is a crowd of doctors and nurses flooding from Mandy’s office and she gives Elio unimpressed look. “Will you two finally come in? My patience is growing thin after I had to go through full four hours of the purest shit.”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mandy. It was just Emma’s stupid idea we will just-“

“Shall I assume you weren’t sneaking around my office to ask about Oliver? Shall I assume you don’t want this?” Mandy’s chin points towards two neatly wrapped presents on her desk and Elio’s knees feel weak, god, he is such an idiot.

He watches Emma as she takes the presents from Mandy’s table and gives him her best _I told you so_ look. “Take him for cup a coffee before he swoons in the middle of my office. His pining is so sweet it’s giving me diabetes.”

°°°

“I’m waiting.” Emma sips from her overpriced Latte and Elio didn’t stop feeling stupid yet. It’s embarrassing really.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he huffs and tries to ignore Oliver’s presents in the middle of the table, “I honestly don’t know why I reacted the way I did. I should have talked to you, it wasn’t fair to lay my frustration on you like that, not cool. I’m really, really sorry and I won’t do it again?”

“Sure you will,” Emma tells him and bites on her banana, “and I will endure it over and over again, because that’s what the friends are for. But Elio, perhaps you care for Oliver a little bit more than you care to admit?”

Elio knows he should say something, probably argue, but he feels guilty for doubting Oliver and their friendship, he shouldn’t have wavered at the sight of the first obstacle. He still remembers the soft curves of Oliver’s smile when he told Elio he could use a friend, he believed Oliver when his eyes filled with nothing else but the purest gratefulness as he accepted Pierre and Luce. Elio feels horrible for not believing in Oliver enough and promises himself to have more faith and accept that not everything is about him and his parents and has to end up in tragedy. 

“I think it’s really sweet he thought about us,” he offers and plays with a blue ribbon on the top of his present. “Shall we open them?”

Emma nods excitedly and grabs at the box with her name on it. She rips the wrapping paper off without further ceremony, and Elio smiles as she gushes over the flacon of Valentino and handwritten thank you card. “Shit, we aren’t to suppose to keep presents this pricey. Nah, screw it. I won’t tell Mandy and so won’t you.” Elio laughs at Emma and her brief morale battle and she looks at him expectantly. “Aren’t you going to open yours?”

Elio takes time as he opens his present and makes sure he doesn’t damages any of the wrapping paper covering it. He stops breathing for a second or five and stares at the book in his hands. This wasn’t a box of pralines or coffee mug. This was De Saint-Exupéry’s Little Prince and one of the earliest and very valuable publications too. He looks at Emma, feeling vulnerable and exposed, because how many times could have Oliver ripped Elio’s heart out of his chest in one morning? How easy it seemed for Oliver to simply reach out and touch the place deep inside Elio, the very place he worked so hard on burying for years?

“That’s beautiful, Elio.” Emma gives his elbow little squeeze and smiles. “How silly of you to think he doesn’t care.”

Elio swallows around the dryness of his throat and it hurts and he feels something very close to tears prickling in his eyes. He opens the book and there is an inscription written in Oliver’s neat, curly letters.

 _This book was with me for years and I never thought I would find a sentiment worthy of letting it go. Well, I couldn’t be more wrong. I know it will be in good hands of valued friend. Thank you for not giving up on me. Oliver._

One little, treacherous tear makes its way down over Elio’s cheek, but he beams at Emma, his whole face hurts under the force of the bright, happy smile and he can’t stop grinning. 

She hands him a little card, which got stuck in the wrapping paper and her face is positively smug.

_I hope you won’t get into any trouble over this, but I gathered I’m not under your care anymore and we never talked about exchanging numbers before. I know you offered your help, but I don’t want you to feel obliged, ok? Just, don’t be a stranger._

Elio counts the digits of the telephone number, which is written at the very bottom of the card and sighs with relief when there are eleven of them. Whoever up there – somewhere – anywhere, who was in charge of Elio’s good luck should get a pay rise. And two weeks of fully paid holidays.

°°°

Oliver isn’t sure what he thought it’s going to happen once he is back at his own environment, but the pain doesn’t just miraculously disappear and he still falls asleep without intending to do so far too many times. He pets Pushkin, who sits silently in his lap; his trusting eyes follow every Oliver’s move.

“Not going anywhere, bud. Not any time soon,” Oliver whispers more to himself than to his furry companion and ignores another growl of his empty stomach. He sent Damian home couple of hours ago, the old man looked boned-tired after picking Oliver from hospital yesterday and driving a considerate distance in a heavy traffic. The other man was reluctant at first, but gave up when Oliver said he is also tired and wants to sleep. The food Damian cooked and brought over was still sitting in the fridge and Oliver isn’t sure what for exactly he is punishing himself with not eating, but then the list could go on forever.

A quiet beep of his mobile phone disturbs him from falling asleep again and he makes a deal with himself that this time he is definitely going to stay awake and takes shower. 

_The book is absolutely A-W-E-S-O-M-E! Thank you._

_Would you believe Mandy let me go home early? She said I’m fidgety, whatever… I’m not going to complain._

_Oh, this is Elio. I should have probably said that in my first text, shouldn’t I? But then, do you just randomly go around and gift people with very beautiful and very expensive books, because you suffer with some weird good deed doer syndrome?_

_Scrap that last message. Of course you do! I have seen you with John and Damian, you play it all very well with your American smile and buff body, but deep down you are such a Mr Goody Two-Shoes._

_Your secret is save with me. You can lead a double life and be Captain America on your days off as long as I get to spend some time with Oliver._

Oliver’s smile grows bigger and stupider with each of Elio’s messages and he isn’t really surprised when his phone vibrates with an incoming call.

“Yes?”

“For the record, I’m Captain’s fan,” Elio’s voice shakes a little in Oliver’s ear and he wonders if it’s due to his crappy signal or if it’s the other man being nervous. “But he didn’t blow my mind with this absolutely amazing vintage book so… yeah, you win.”

“You are more than welcome, Elio.” Oliver tells him and he is nothing but simply happy at the thought that Elio appreciates his present and sentiment exactly the way he thought he would.

“So I was thinking…” there is a long gap on Elio’s end and Oliver briefly checks if their call is still connected and almost misses when the boy continues with his sentence, “there is this delicious chicken soup my mother used to make for me when I was ill, and basically it’s just chicken and heap of garlic, yeah, definitely lots of garlic so you can’t French kiss anybody for maybe months afterwards, but it always made me feel better so I thought… god, Elio, you are blabbering, why are you blabbering… so I though I could come over and cook it for you.”

Oliver almost says _but I don’t have a bloody flu, this will take months, months, Elio! How quickly will you forget about me when I’m knee-deep in my anxieties and don’t know what to do with myself or my life_ , but bites the inside of his cheek so hard it hurts and that’s good because pain is familiar to Oliver and he can deal with that.

“I mean I know your recovery is a long distance run, but I promise the soup is magic and I told you I’m sticking around… and I will grant it to you, my company isn’t the greatest and I do play on people’s nerves, but just… don’t push me away, ok?”

“Yeah, ok,” Oliver says quietly and welcomes a surge of relief, which floods his exhausted body, “I’m going to message you my address and you come whenever you are ready.”

“Great! I see you around six. I will be picking up few things from a shop so if there is anything you need, let me know. Anything. Ok, see you soon. Can’t wait to meet your Pushkin… I keep wondering if he is real Russian – all broody and mysterious, he could technically be the Winter Soldier to your Captain America… ok that’s me hanging up now. Bye, Oliver!”

“See you soon, Elio,” Oliver hugs the cat closer to his face, inhaling familiar and grounding scent. I can do this, he thinks, I can do this with Elio by my side. 


	8. Chapter 8

It doesn’t take long for Elio to plan his journey to Oliver’s place and it surprisingly takes only twenty-five minutes on the bus and additional ten minutes of brisk walking. Elio is a little bit more than impressed with himself when he doesn’t get lost and stands face to face with the door of Oliver’s flat in exactly thirty-five minutes after he leaves Marzia and her boyfriend to their horror movie marathon. Elio knocks the door before he can do something stupid as start to think about how surreal it feels that he is about to meet the other man outside the hospital environment, the place where Elio feels somewhat confident and comfortable about what he does. But now, how long will it take until Oliver - bright and incredibly intelligent Oliver realizes how ordinary and awkward Elio is?

Heavy, wooden door opens with a little squeak and for a second Elio becomes absolutely horrified it is him, who made that embarrassing sound, and purses his lips almost painfully tight to keep whatever reaction was bubbling under the surface at sight of Oliver standing in front of him in well worn pair of comfortable grey cotton pants and faded navy t-shirt at bay. Elio knows he should keep his distance, but the nurse in him registers a slight pinch in Oliver’s features almost immediately. The water from Oliver’s freshly washed hair trickles all over his neck and into the V of his t-shirt, and Elio can’t miss the way his right hand trembles as it clutches a small hand towel far too tight.

Since Elio’s childhood people used to tell his parents how well spoken and expressive he was, how they should be proud of him. Yet here he is, reduced to unusual silence by the rawness of the feeling, which was suddenly coursing through his whole body. And so Elio does what he knows the best. He puts a carrier bag with a shopping against the wall and gently tugs onto the towel in Oliver’s hand until it slips from his tight grip.

Elio’s eyes don’t leave Oliver’s, searching for any signs of discomfort as he stands on his tiptoes and dries Oliver’s hair with slow, practised motions. “Hi,” Elio breathes out quietly and tries to ignore the way his stomach clenches when his nose catches a familiar smell of peaches and holidays, “that’s – uhm, that’s better.” Elio tries and wishes the burning blush, which he feels rising at his cheeks away while he awkwardly pats Oliver’s neck dry and tries not to think how soft and inviting Oliver’s skin looks, and does he wants to drive Elio completely crazy, parading around in t-shirt, which definitely saw few better days being almost see through now and clinging to Oliver’s impressive upper body just perfectly. 

“Thanks.” Oliver takes the towel back and tries his hardest to suppress how useless he feels. “Please, come on in,” he tells Elio and opens the door wider for the younger man to step in.

Oliver realizes it’s the first time he sees Elio wearing something else than his shapeless, baggy uniform, which makes Oliver think about plums and the elderly neighbour across the hall with her crazy, purple perm hair. He knew that Elio was on a slender side of the body type, but it surprises Oliver how slim the boy really is, wearing skinny black jeans, which are still couple of sizes too big for him and zip up hoodie with RUSSIA written across the front.

“W-what? Are you kidding me, Oliver?” Elio pauses in the middle of taking his shoes off and he is sure he is standing there with his jaw on the floor. But God, Damian wasn’t far off when he said that Oliver’s flat is basically made of books. They are everywhere – tall piles of books reaching as high as ceiling and Elio thinks there must be thousands of them and how freaking awesome that is. “This is definitely one of my wet dreams coming true.”

“Well, that’s the first,” Oliver gives Elio strange kind of look - one Elio doesn’t know how exactly to interpret, but takes as positive when Oliver adds an adorable, sheepish smile. “People usually find it a little bit weird, especially the ones, who think I’m all brawn, but no brains. Also, they talk about fire hazard a lot.” He shrugs his shoulders noncommittally as if to say that whatever he is about to say doesn’t matter, but Elio notices how his Adam’s apple bobs with a badly hidden emotion, “it used to be much tidier than this, but I – uhm, I moved them all into the storage when Jeremy and I started to live together as he isn’t one for the books, and I’m trying to get them back slowly, but some are in worse condition than others – lots of dust and even some damp so it will take me a while. Now and then I place the more rare pieces into online auctions, you would be surprised how many people are still willing to pay for a good book and who knows, maybe one day I will go through with it, and open a proper book shop.”

Elio wants to laugh aloud at how royally screwed he is, but this isn’t even funny anymore. He remembers those times when him and Marzia basked in lazy, summer sunshine back in Italy, hiding in overgrown grass from the adults, writing down their fantasies and what ifs and Elio’s dreams suddenly seem somewhat faded and pitiful when compared to the man in front of him, because he never thought it’s possible to feel so tuned to another human being and Elio thinks it’s beautiful, but also absolutely terrifying.

“Well, I think you would surprise them all, because the more time I spend with you, the more I can see there is definitely more brains than brawn about you. And I admit, it’s more than little bit unfair that you got the whole package without even really trying, but if they can’t appreciate the beauty of it than it’s definitely their own loss.” He follows Oliver into a spacious kitchen where he unpacks the groceries he picked at the store, “and I support the book shop idea. 100% fan and future customer in a making.” 

“I will make sure you will be the first one to have a royalty card.” Oliver turns around at the sound of cat flap and smiles at Pushkin, who runs in from the garden with very loud meow, his fur shiny with rain. The cat stops at his tracks as he spots Elio and jumps on one of the shorter pillars of books. He doesn’t hiss when Elio walks towards him slowly, and spreads his arms wide as if to show off the RUSSIA sign across his chest.

“Privet ***** ,” he greets the cat sweetly and Oliver has to hold himself from cooing when he sees his normally very reserved cat extending his neck towards Elio. “I’m sorry, Pushkin. That’s as far as my Russian goes.” Elio smiles at Pushkin, who demands more petting and bumps his head against Elio’s hand. “But I’m glad you appreciate the hoodie.”

“Did you really put that hoodie on just because of my cat?” Oliver can’t stop grinning when Elio tries his best to save his skin and talks about his favourite anime, which is about the figure skating and the hoodie being a part of official merchandise.

“To be honest, I’m not familiar with an anime genre at all,” Oliver navigates Elio around the kitchen, watching him peeling and cutting the vegetables in swift, almost professional manner. “With everything in my life being so hectic, I actually didn’t have a television until maybe a year ago. There just wasn’t an opportunity to slow down and enjoy the normality of it, you know?” Elio didn’t answer to that, but he looks up from where he is frying the chicken in the pan and smiles at Oliver not with a pity, but with something what feels as complete understanding.

**°°°**

Once Elio finishes all the work in the kitchen and the chicken soup is lazily simmering away, he explains to Oliver that a good soup takes a long time to cook to perfection and offers to order a takeaway in a meantime. “I should have thought about it earlier. How stupid of me. I promised to cook for you and now you are left to starve.”

“I’m happy to wait,” Oliver passes him a big bowl of popcorn and smiles as he pats his stomach, “I’m sure that the hospital stay piled a good couple of pounds on me anyway. Beer?”

Elio perhaps shouldn’t, but remembers Oliver’s stomach as toned and perfectly flat with golden, soft looking hair and for some unexplainable reason he is associating Oliver with peaches once again. He accepts the beer and the coldness of the bottle seems to help Elio to collect his thoughts and nerves, he really needs to get his shit together! “Are you sure you want to watch it? I mean, there is more than ten perfectly reasonable movies I can think of right now and we could watch.”

He politely ignores the way Oliver hisses in pain as he sits down next to him and Elio focuses on the way the sides of their knees slightly brush together, because yes, Oliver’s sofa is impressively big and comfortable, but Elio somewhat managed to underestimate the proportions of other man’s body once again. “You can’t just walk into my flat wearing that hoodie and not expect me to get curious.”

“You will think it’s childish.” You will think I’m childish, Elio thinks. You will think you were right when you called me _kid_ and _boy_ and you will realize how silly it was to see the two of us as equal and you will be all kind and polite about the realization, because that’s who you are, but you won’t see me again. “It is maybe little bit childish. In a sense.” Elio shrugs his shoulders helplessly, but Oliver ignores him and presses the play button anyway. 

 **°°°**  

“The shouty kid is definitely my favourite.” Oliver tells him three episodes into Yuri on ice. “The bond with his grandfather is – “ _relatable_ Oliver wants to say, _something I miss every single day_ he wants to explain, but says “sweet. And he is maybe little bit annoying at times, but in a good way, you know? You just want to squeeze him real tight,” instead.

They end up with Pushkin’s head resting on Oliver’s thigh and with his back legs stretched across Elio. “You know, I used to know a Russian boy, who was called Viktor. I haven't thought about him for years.” Oliver smiles at his memory and shakes his head. “I was fifteen.”

“Was he your boyfriend?” Elio smiles at Oliver and he decides he absolutely loves the way Oliver’s whole face softens with the fondness of the memory.

“Oh, fifteen years old myself wished.” Oliver winks at Elio and wraps the tip of the cat’s tail around his finger. “He was an exchange student from Moscow. Lived with a family across the street for a month. The morons called him 'their Russian' and paraded him around the town like an exotic pet. He was twenty and my very first crush.”

Elio doesn’t know if it was him or Oliver, who paused the Yuri on Ice episode on the television, but it doesn’t really matter, because Elio grew incredibly quickly very fond of the way Oliver shared things about himself, Elio could listen to him for hours on end. “What was he like?”

Oliver takes a sip from a coffee Elio made for him and Elio knows it must taste horrible, because he was rubbish at making drinks for other people, but he swallows it anyway. “I thought him graceful. Always beautifully overdressed for our little, dusty town in the most eccentric colours and I bet if some of our old neighbours are still around, they talk about him until this day. He used to have a book with him wherever he went and the kids from my street used to spy on him and came back with names of Chekhov, Yesenin and Pushkin.” He gently pets the cat, who is resting in his lap. “That’s how I discovered at the age of fifteen that I might be ugly looking kid with a greasy hair and face full of bad acne, but the books can be the way for me to escape from some of my insecurities and make me feel free.” 

Elio struggles to imagine Oliver as _ugly_ , because he knows that no matter how bad his teenage acne was, there isn’t a way for him to hide his striking blue eyes and sweet smile.

“We only spoke to each other once. No, that’s not correct. He – Viktor, spoke to me once while we bumped into each other in our local library. I remember it was incredibly hot day and I was soaked with sweat and all I was able to think about was how disgusting my hair must look while I stared at his long, pale neck and he gave a little nod at my Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and said _at least somebody has a fucking taste in this shithole of a town._ ”

Elio laughs together with Oliver and they clink their beer bottles together. 

“Was that when you realized you were a gay?”

“Fuck, no. I first knew I was queer when I was twelve. Remember, I told you I used to play an ice hockey a lot?” 

Elio nods and thinks how much time passed since that conversation. A week? And yet, it felt like he couldn’t remember the time when Oliver wasn’t a valid part of his life. 

“Right, I know it’s maybe hard to believe, but I was scrawny kid - so fucking determined to play, I stumped my feet long and hard enough that our coach – Mr Rogers gave me a shot and put me in the first line. Long story short, the other kids were older and not so keen on me and I got hit by the puck in a head within the first two minutes.” 

Oliver is laughing again and Elio knows it’s a serious topic, but can’t help it and laughs with him. “God, Elio, there was so much blood. They didn’t even give me a chance to put my helmet on.”

Elio’s fingers find a place, which is usually hidden by Oliver’s fringe and trace a rugged edges of a scarred tissue. “Yeah,” Oliver confirms simply. “So here I was, sitting in Mr Rogers’ tiny, family car and he was stuttering while trying to explain that my mum is _busy_ and won’t see me in the hospital and bless the good man, he felt so sorry and embarrassed for an excuse of a parent my mother was, and I started to cry, which I very rarely did back then, full on ugly cry with the blood dripping from my chin and into my lap. So he stops the car and starts apologising and then he hugs me. Mr Rogers, six foot six, wraps his massive arms around me and hugs me really tight and my bloodied face is buried in his chest and he smells like sweat and male and so much testosterone and Elio, fuck, my head hurts, but I also popped the biggest erection of my twelve years long life.”

Elio’s grin is so wide his face almost hurts. “Mr Rogers sounds like the kind of a gentleman, who wouldn’t embarrass you about something like that.”

“Damn right. He clapped me on a back like a champ he was and said that I’m safe with him and that everything will be okay. But I knew in that moment – with my nose full of his chest hair and with those strong arms around me that this was what I wanted whatever that meant.” 

**°°°**

Elio closes the anatomy book for the fourth time and he tells himself that this time it’s for real and he is going to wake Oliver up. He turned the soup on the hob off maybe thirty minutes ago and he doesn’t have any more excuses to come up with rather than being honest and admit that he doesn’t want to leave. Oliver sleeps with his head on Elio’s bony shoulder and there is a little, damp spot where the corner of Oliver’s mouth meets Elio’s hoodie.

He knows – _no_ , he forces his stupid head over and over again to understand that whatever he thinks he feels towards his new friend would be short-lived and awfully painful and unfair. Elio can admit he is attracted to Oliver, he highly doubts there is a living soul, which wouldn’t find the other man beautiful and Elio knows he is positively charmed by Oliver’s intelligence, humour and the way, which is so very unique to him, but he can’t possibly think about anything more than this. Not when Oliver is so very vulnerable and also in unresolved situation with his boyfriend. Ex boyfriend? Elio doesn’t know. And he suspects Oliver isn’t much wiser. Yet, when he gently shakes Oliver awake and the sleepy blue of Oliver’s eyes becomes brighter and  _happy_ when Elio tells him that the soup is finally done – at four o’clock in the morning, he can’t shake the feeling of almost tangible loss – loss of something he doesn’t dare to name aloud.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening, beautiful people! Hope you are having a wonderful weekend wherever you are. Thank you for every single comment and kudos under this story, it's much appreciated. 
> 
> Privet -> hello
> 
> Hoodie -> https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71M-l6gMfjL._UX522_.jpg
> 
> Viktor is one of the main characters of Yuri on Ice :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ☺
> 
> I'm not going to try and apologise for how long it took me to post this chapter as I think probably nobody sticked to this story anyway. Life is extremely busy as I'm in my last year of nursing degree and it's hitting me left and right, haha. But I never planned to leave my first fan fiction unfinished, that's for sure. 
> 
> Have a lovely weekend and stay beautiful!

Oliver’s rehabilitation is scheduled surprisingly well and starts on the day following his discharge from the hospital. The nurse on duty, Oliver learns his name is James goes through some seemingly basic and frankly _boring_ exercises, which wouldn’t prior to Oliver’s accident elevate his heart rate in the slightest, but prove to be difficult and painful now. Every single surgical and medical professional Oliver met so far told him the same, old story.

_Don’t expect miracles. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Give your body a time. Be patient._

Oliver glances at the reflection in the mirror in front of him, his face contorted in pain and covered in unattractive, red blotches. _Ten more_ , Oliver thinks and ignores the way his whole body shakes and cramps violently with exhaustion.

“That’s quite enough, Oliver,” James’ friendly face smiles at him from the mirror while he gently stills Oliver’s poorly coordinated movements, “you done far better than I expected. Remember, it’s not a race. You will get there.”

Get where exactly? Does James know something Oliver doesn’t? Or maybe he read Oliver’s medical notes and as everybody else assumes that poor and oh, so screwed Oliver doesn’t think about anything else apart playing and being on the field again.

Oliver likes to think about the accident as an easy way out. The last two seasons weren’t kind to him, and slowly but surely highlighted the fact that he was the eldest player on the team and majority of his teammates were ten years his junior. Yes, the experience and natural authority he represents to these boys play to his advantage, but Oliver was never under the impression that his good years will go on forever and his accident could enable a retirement with his dignity intact.

He doesn’t think about the way the things between him and Jeremy went extremely sour extremely quickly right after his form started to decline, his boyfriend almost tangibly ashamed that Oliver’s name doesn’t flash from the top of the score table anymore.

_You are just not training hard enough!_

He vehemently ignores that his own mother only ever counted his personal worth in numbers of titles and trophies he won since he was thirteen years old.

_Work? As what? Don’t be so ridiculous, Oliver. You were lucky enough when George and I discovered your mediocre talent for rugby otherwise you would be still stuck with your stupid ice hockey with no money or future in sight._

Oliver does his best to focus on James and the instructions regarding his exercise regime and their future appointments. He hates how tired and weak his body feels – the body, which was sadly the only constant he could have fully relied on for the last ten years. Unlike his mind it never budged, no matter how hard he tried to bend it and push.

Were Jeremy and his mother right? He always thought that after he retires as a professional player he would continue as a couch, but that was an option, which was no longer on the table. Was there really nothing else for him?

He gives James a final nod to whatever he asked and glances at the clock on the wall above the door. “I’m looking forward to see you tomorrow morning, Oliver. Take care.”

Oliver walks out the rehabilitation centre as fast as his wobbly legs allow him, feeling horribly guilty as he approaches Elio, who looks somewhat _at home_ sitting under beautiful, wild cherry tree with his back against the tree trunk. “I’m so sorry, Elio-“ Oliver struggles to catch the breath and his voice comes out all wrong and squeaky, “shit, I said I will be only half an hour and left you waiting for almost two hours.” He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his t-shirt, thinking he must be looking as shitty as he feels.

Elio looks up from the three books he has somewhat systematically spread around him with an easy smile. “Hey!” His excited smile dies a little when he takes in Oliver’s face and posture, the man looks like death warmed over. “I told you I have like million essays to write. I wasn’t lying just to make you feel better, you know.” Elio puts the books in his backpack and climbs to his feet, suddenly being almost nose-to-nose with Oliver. “You okay? You look awfully pale.” He offers Oliver his water bottle and feels stupidly happy when the other man accepts, not fussing about the fact that Elio tends to keep the spout in his mouth unnecessarily long when taking a drink. “And not in Interview with a vampire kind of way. Because deadly pale Brad Pitt is poems worthy occurrence, let’s not argue about that.”

Oliver greedily finishes almost half of Elio’s water bottle and his stomach hurts, but it’s totally worthy. “What about Legends of the fall Brad Pitt? Makes you want to rip your clothes off, cover yourself in the blood of your enemies and casually tame few wild horses.”

Elio laughs an unattractive snort, which Oliver learnt to absolutely adore and miss when it’s just him and an overwhelming silence in his head. “Why did I just picture Julia Ormond and me fighting in a big puddle of mud while she strangle me with her flawless hair?”

“Well,” Oliver passes the water bottle back to Elio and something in the slant of his shoulders tells the younger man that whatever created that deep, sad divot in the middle of his forehead is for now gone from Oliver’s mind, “I have nothing on young Tom Cruise.”

Elio pokes his left molars with his tongue and take an agonisingly deep breath to stop himself from saying something extremely stupid like _bitch, please. Be quiet. Have you recently looked in the mirror?_

“Are you okay?” Elio asks again and he isn’t sure to who is he directing the question anymore. “We can just reschedule to another day.” _If you too tired_ , he doesn’t add, because he doesn’t want Oliver’s face fold on itself all disappointed and guilty.

“Don’t you dare, Elio! I go to rehab and you get me an ice cream. Three bloody scoops. That was a deal!” Oliver forces Elio’s backpack from his hands and starts walking in opposite direction. “And you promised me we will go for walk. YOU PROMISED! I can’t take another day just rotting away in that chair. My previously fine arse is shrinking into nothing.”

Elio follows Oliver as on cue, as there was never any other option for him. _Your arse looks…_ Elio tilts his head slightly to the left and thinks about Pavlov and his dog. The poor soul never really stood a chance. “If you behave yourself and don’t overdo it, we could go to New Forest Park.”

**°°°**

Two hours later, after they completed the longest path around the park twice, Elio picks one of the trees to sit under so Oliver can enjoy his ice cream. It crosses his mind more than once that he should be probably sensible enough for both of them to point out that Oliver is definitely over ambitious about his recovery once again, but he realises that when it comes to the other man Elio’s determination and general common sense fails big time.

Elio didn’t inherit his mother’s passion for everything outdoors, but there were days when he took off for miles worthy walk to think about nothing and everything. But Oliver, Oliver’s body and soul seem to be made to _be moving forward._ He accepted the slow pace Elio set up without a word of protest although Elio didn’t miss the way Oliver’s muscles tensed every time he had to force himself to slow down. 

Oliver collapses on the grass right next to Elio, haphazardly trying to balance four scoops of ice cream on the fragile looking waffle cone. He somewhat can’t to force himself to erase a massive, satisfied grin which he knows must look stupid from his face. “Is it too weird to say that I finally feel alive again?” Oliver licks the green puddle of pistachio ice cream from his wrist and smiles at Elio, who is trying to tidy up the impressive amount of books in his backpack.

Elio makes the mistake that he looks up exactly at the moment when a tip of Oliver’s tongue flicks over his wrist and it should be weird, unhygienic and just… no, but coupled with Oliver’s stupidly happy smile it hurls Elio’s gut into his throat and he doesn’t want anything more than go back to the way he was before the two of them met.

“We should be thankful and proud of things which make us feel that way, don’t you think? There aren’t many of them.” Elio swallows around the painful dryness of his throat and forces himself pretend he didn’t just hit a nail on a head.

Oliver does that thing with his head when he resembles an awkward puppy of golden retriever. Elio’s fingers twitch at little flyaway hair near older man’s right temple. “This -,” Oliver spreads his arms and it should be silly sight with the ice cream melting away and wobbling left and right, “this makes me happy. Fresh air in my lung, sunshine in my eyes and a good friend by my side.”

“Dancing for so long that I’m at the point of absolute exhaustion. Dogs with their tongues out. The smell of book – old or new, it doesn’t matter and softness of cat's ears. Unnecessarily long and hot showers,” Oliver adds and the corners of Elio’s mouth stretch to copy the width of other man’s smile, “good tea, hugs and forehead kisses.”

“I guess, nursing makes me happy,” Elio starts tentatively, because he can’t recall the last time he thought about his own happiness instead of putting everything else – the debts his father left to his unsuspecting wife and child, the feeling of being suddenly so poor they didn’t eat anything else but bread for weeks, the moment of his mother’s diagnosis – the absolute, unmovable despair when it ripped the heart from his aching, bleeding body and he never meant to have it returned and working again. “Helping other people, you know. Seeing them getting better no matter how bad they were to start with. And if I can’t – can’t do that, giving them dignity and humanity in their passing.” 

He isn’t sure why he is telling Oliver all of this when he didn’t even ask, but something makes Elio want to _share_ and tell him things he didn’t dare to speak or think about for very long time. “When-,” he coughs clumsily to get rid of croak in his voice and he pushes himself to stop fidgeting and looks up - really looks at Oliver, because this is important to Elio and if what Oliver tells him is genuine and they really are friends and it isn’t only Elio who feels it's not just friendship, it's something what feels more fundamental, comfortable and safe - this should be important to Oliver too, “when my mum reached the end of life, the nurses, who used to come to our flat to set up her syringe driver and supported us with much more we asked for… they were just so _inspiring_ , you know? I don’t know how much of it could have been a professional mask, it doesn’t even matter – I guess, but they never commented on how cramped and messy our flat was and they always made sure that not only my mother was clean, beautifully dressed in clothes she adored and dignified, but also looked after me and my mental wellbeing and managed to completely turn my outlook on life and what I want to do in the future.”

Elio feels as if something deep in his chest what laid heavy and painful dislodges itself and runs swiftly through his veins and arteries and oh god, he feels light as feather. 

“And touching hair of people who I like and they like me,” he adds helplessly as his gaze locks with the place where Oliver’s fringe plastered itself onto his forehead. “And seeing you dancing- because you said it makes you happy, I can’t dance, jeez, both my legs are worse than left, but yeah, I would very much like to see you dance. Sometimes. Someday.”

“Deal,” Oliver says after he has been silent for maybe ten never-ending seconds, but he just feels that anything he says to the boy in front of him is _inadequate._ It downs on him through how much Elio must have been, yet, here he is – innocent, shy and compare to Oliver’s lacking ways and personality – _perfect_. What do you say to someone, who for some reason opens up about something so painful that it makes his whole body tremble just when trying to maintain sincere eye contact? “And you know… if it helps, feel free to touch my hair as much as you want. I mean it.”

**°°°**

Later in the evening, when they are back at Oliver’s place and decide to watch all three Lord of the Rings in one night and Elio sends Marzia a text message about being late again, it doesn’t even feel awkward anymore. It’s as if there is this untold pact between the two of them. Because it doesn’t matter how long they know each other, it simply sits _right_.

It feels fundamental, comfortable and safe.

So Elio’s eyes don’t budge when he watches Oliver as he replaces a Morphine patch on his shoulder before he sits back next to him and offers him a bowl of popcorn.

He doesn’t hide his smile when Oliver lowers his head on Elio’s bony shoulder and throws in few very witty comments in something what appears to be fluent Elvish.

Elio still hold his breath while his poor heart, who knew the useless organ would ever feel this way again, hammers against his ribcage and he thinks _he knows, he must know, does he know?_ as his shaking fingers find their way to play with baby hair on nape of Oliver’s neck and it’s everything he ever dreamed of.

He isn’t sure why he isn’t more unsettled when his heart, soul and brain all in sync suddenly whisper – when Oliver laughs out loud at some of Gimli/Legolas antics and offers more of his hair to Elio’s hands as he simply lays his head on younger man’s thigh – yes, he is in love with Oliver.

And if feels fundamental, comfortable and safe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening ☺
> 
> I would like to thank you for the amazing comments under the last chapter, I'm having a bit of a hard time lately, and it really made my day so much brighter! I wrote this chapter almost entirely on the bus between university, placement and work and I hope it will still somehow deliver! Poor Elio is having one bitch of a day and Oliver keeps floating on his oblivious cloud! Or is he?
> 
> Stay beautiful xX

When Oliver casually explained that he had some things to discuss with his coach Pete, and asked him if he wanted to come with, Elio hummed an agreement from where he was hunched over one of his university works without any second thoughts.

He regrets it now.

Deeply.

Oliver disappeared behind the scruffy looking door over ten minutes ago and Elio thinks _okay, it might be little bad to sit here and watch a rugby practice with zero knowledge about the sport in question_ , but oh, how grossly he miscalculated. He ends up encircled by all Oliver’s teammates and to be honest, they are all sort of nice, thanking him for looking after _the boss_ , but they are also sort of pain in Elio’s backside. 

“So, _you_ are the nurse he banged! Told you, boys!” One of them says, sounding very smug about his discovery. “Boss was never one for moping.”

There is a loud murmur of agreement and Elio feels he should say something if he plans to survive this with all his extremities intact.

“Can’t blame him either. Jeremy is dickhead, and we all know it. Coach is going to kick his sorry arse out of the team pretty soon. Good riddance, I tell you.” Another man, who Elio recognises by his impressive, ginger beard and remembers from their hospital visits as Tony throws in.

“And you are so much nicer than Jeremy,” another voice adds and Elio reads D. Martin on the back of black and yellow jersey. Elio never met the boy before, but the comparison seems strangely honest and sounds almost disappointed _._

“Oh, Danny!" One of Tony’s massive hand wraps itself around D. Martin’s shoulders in gentle, almost father-son like gesture and the rest of the group gives half sympathetic sigh, half entertained chuckle. “You need to stop crushing on Oliver so hard. Or just grow a fucking pair of balls and talk to him. Although, I reckon you missed your train, lad… if the way Elio and Oliver eye fuck each other is anything to go by.”

“We are just mates,” Elio says slowly and his eyes don’t leave D. Martin’s face. The boy’s face just looks so heartbroken and Elio thinks _am I looking into my own future_ , the future when Oliver meets someone, who will truly see him and appreciate for what he is and Oliver decides that this is it for him – his happily ever after and settles down. “Don’t really know where him and Jeremy stand at the moment. You should be asking Oliver about this, not me.” And he wishes he could fake it and sound little less miserable, screw the nosy lot of them.

And then the chapter from Elio’s book of life, which he helpfully names _Fuck up day_ continues, and Jeremy decides he shows up out of nowhere, and trains some rugby after all. The rest of the team isn’t hostile toward Jeremy per say, but the atmosphere goes from chilled to awkward in mere seconds.

“Hi,” Jeremy says as he sits on the bench next to Elio and suddenly the rest of the team remembers they are there to actually do something and scatter away.

_Traitors. Each and every one of you. Fucking traitors._

“I remember you. You are Oliver’s little hospital pet,” Jeremy tries again and somewhat _much worse_ when Elio remains silent. “Are you the reason he is giving me the silent treatment?”

“Nothing against you, boy –“ he continues and the word _boy_ makes Elio physically flinch, “but Oli seems to be off his fucking head again. He used to have _standards_.”

Elio doesn’t know why exactly he bothers and listens to the other man. He could and also should just get up and wait for Oliver to finish his meeting by the coach’s office. Elio isn’t _that_ stupid, the hurt of Jeremy’s pride is almost tangible, the way he kicks around himself, spitting venom just to hurt back. But some part of him – the part Elio doesn’t like all that much stops him from being rational as he takes in almost oddly symmetrical, handsome face and body of underwear model and Elio’s brain is silent and his heart hurts. 

**°°°**

Oliver is grateful to Pete when he gives him heads up about Jeremy coming over – _yes, I told him about our meeting – not its purpose, but he knows you will be here, and I really think you have some serious shit to talk about_ \- and Oliver wishes he has an upper hand in this and wants to tell him where exactly he can shove his nosy, fatherly wisdom, but the truth is that the coach is right. He doesn’t fully understand why his throat still closes up in surprise  when Jeremy stops talking to Elio and walks over to him.

He loved this man for years and there was a time when Oliver thought _I don’t have to search anymore_ , he thought _finally, I’m home._ And as the years passed, and all bright and happy colours faded into the blur of _nothing_ , he accepted that he is being nothing but used, but Oliver was never a coward and even less of a martyr. He knows it takes two to tango.

Oliver doesn’t and somehow can’t stop the thoughts, which shout _beautiful, breathtaking_ and _stunning_ when he replies to Jeremy’s hello, and he isn’t sure if the praises are even genuine anymore, or if he simply - over the years - built a habit and excuse _thick_ enough to silence the way his brain was always screaming _run_ and _this is such a bad idea_ at him whenever Jeremy was around. 

“You look so much better than the last time I saw you,” Jeremy smiles, but Oliver knows it’s not his real smile from the way the corners of his mouth look all pinched and strained, “I think, I haven’t seen you looking this good since…” there is a long pause in which Jeremy’s eyes go extremely wide extremely quickly, “probably since we first met. Yeah, it’s a great look on you.”

“Right,” Oliver offers stupidly and quickly glances towards Elio, who hasn’t move from the spot on the bench, where he watches an on going practice.

“I assume, Pete already told you I’m off the team?” Jeremy is much closer in his personal space when his eyes find their way back, and it doesn’t make feel Oliver uncomfortable, but it surprises him it’s not exactly welcomed anymore.

“He did mention you didn’t bother to turn up for trainings or return his calls for over the week now,” Oliver shrugs as he doesn’t really know what else to say, “you know the rules.”

Jeremy gives him one of his trademark smirks and Oliver used to think _charming_ , but now it just sets his teeth on edge.

“And you always play by the rules, don’t you, Mr Deputy Manager?”

Ok, Oliver would lie if he says he isn’t surprised that Jeremy knows, maybe guesses or fucking reads from the tarot cards that he just retired from the team and Pete offered him deputy post instead. All before the coach or Oliver had any decent  chance to wrap their heads around it and talk to the rest of the team.

“Something like that,” he says and he doesn’t know why aren’t they talking about the things that truly matter, like three years of their life together going to shit.

“Something like that,” Jeremy repeats and Oliver doesn’t miss how bitter he sounds, “so, does it mean you can’t or don’t want to talk some sense into Pete’s stubborn head and get me back on the team?”

Oliver decides that yes, it still hurts, even after knowing he should be used to it by now – the way Jeremy always puts his own agenda above anything else. Above the fact that Oliver used to talk about _forever_ and that Jeremy once – very long time ago, felt exactly the same way.

“I can’t and I won’t, Jeremy,” Oliver says and hates the way his voice trembles, “I don’t want to clean up after your fucks up, not anymore.”

“Fair enough,” Jeremy says and looks at Oliver for few, agonizingly long seconds, “so you really think he won’t run away as soon as he sees how messed up you can be? You really think it was so fucking easy for me to put up with you on those days when you decided you don’t want to get out of bed, move, eat or _be alive_?”

“I wasn’t deciding anything,” Oliver forces the words out and it’s so painful to stand up for yourself sometimes isn’t it, it burns in his chest and stomach and the fire just won’t die down, “I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.” 

“Whatever you want to call it. We argued over this enough. But then, your mother warned me that you were overemotional, nervous kid and that –“

“That I grew up into overemotional and nervous adult,” Oliver abruptly fills in blanks for him. “We all know, you are her favourite son and I’m quite okay with it.”

“But then I guess, he is quite familiar with your medication chart,” Jeremy adds and there is zero emotion whatsoever, “so you can have happily ride into the sunset.” 

Oliver feels so many conflicted emotions and his head spins with it. He wants to jell, throat punch the fucker, he wants to – he wants to point his finger and say – you know, you fucking know that I stopped taking all the medication, because I thought we can go through this together, because you were offended by my decreased libido – how dare I’m - being unwell and not wanting to shag like a rabbit, not that you cared if I ever said _no_ , not like you ever cared you selfish, self absorbed bastard.

“I’m done with whatever this is,” he points between them, because he refuses to waste the words relationship or love and he is tired – exhausted to his very bones.

He starts walking away, but he hears Jeremy’s angry – “Are you done with your booty calls or are we still allowed to fuck each other?” – and he knows he deserves that one, because it takes two to destroy every feeling and emotion they ever had for each other, but he doesn’t hesitate as he finally walks away.

**°°°**

“Ouch,” Elio says when Oliver sits next to him and he is genuinely surprised there isn’t any steam coming out of other man’s ears. “Are you okay?”

“How much did you hear?” Oliver asks him and Elio repeats _ouch_ inside of his head, because Oliver’s face talks even if he remains silent. And if Elio knows about something, it’s about being in pain, when the inside and outside of one's very being is hurting so much it feels like dying and being reborn again.  

“Only the last bit he was shouting at you,” Elio shrugs and fixes his gaze on the grass under his feet, “I tried to channel it out, but he was too loud.”

“Okay,” Oliver offers and Elio doesn’t know why, but he sounds relieved - _so relieved_ like he wasn’t actually asking if Elio heard Jeremy calling Oliver _easy_ and _slut_. “That’s okay.”

And there is a pause in which Elio thinks – what do you mean by that’s okay? I can think of one million reasons why it’s not okay, when person you have been dating for years comes over to place, which is important to you and where people respect you and see you as their leader and close friend just to cause silver screen worthy scene for a sake of walking away as a _winner_.

“I decided to retire from a professional game,” Oliver says instead and there is a little smile he offers to Elio when the boy looks up at him. “Pete agreed that it was sensible thing to do, and offered me a part time job as his deputy. He will need all the help with this lot he can get. Half a time the boys are batshit crazy.”

“That’s awesome!” Elio jumps off the bench and he almost – almost goes straight for a hug when he notices D. Martin, who is watching them from the field. He grabs Oliver’s hand instead and squeezes it with all power he has got. “Absolutely awesome!”

“It’s only for one day a week for now, you know,” Oliver squeezes Elio’s hand in return and he is smiling his thousand watt smile and Elio thinks this is it – the cure for famine, cancer and terrorism, why on Earth haven’t people thought about it before, “I still have to find myself a decent job to pay my bills.”

And you will - we will, Elio wants to say, but Oliver’s chin nods towards the game in front of them. “Can’t believe how much has Danny improved. To think he almost didn’t make a cut into the team.”

“You know him quite well then?” Elio asks and immediately wishes he bit his tongue off.

“Well, he hasn’t been with us for that long. But he is great kid. Really funny too. I’m glad Tony is looking out for him, because these guys? They can be savages.”

_Great kid_.

Elio is almost sure that Danny is actually older than him.

_Great fucking kid._

If there is a full moon right now, Elio would most definitely howl.

“But…” and Elio hates himself for what he says next almost as much as he hates D. Martin for ever casting his eyes on Oliver, “you do know he has a crush on you, right?”

Oliver chokes and there is definitely little of his spit on Elio’s nose now.

“Tones?” And Oliver is laughing now – his whole body is shaking with it and there are tears in the corner of his eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ!”

Elio rolls his eyes at Oliver, they both knew the Scot is married and has children, but then again, Elio knows the way Oliver’s fringe - being too long now and flopping lazily over his left eye, has the power to turn literally anybody gay.

“I’m talking about Danny, you goat.”

“Nah, that's not true,” Oliver says, but glances to the field again, waving at Danny when he notices the younger boy is watching them. And it’s exactly like in those stupid romcom movies, the way Danny trips over nothing when Oliver merely waves at him and acknowledges his existence.

“Sure, it’s not,” Elio points out and sits back down next to Oliver. “I think you would deny it even if he drops on his knee right here right now and asks you to marry him.” 

“I see,” Oliver brings his knees to his chest and stares at the tips of his well worn Converse. And his _I see_ translates to Elio as rest in peace D. Martin and also rest in peace Elio Perlman, you foolish, foolish  _kid_. 

“Would it be horrible to say I’m just not ready for it? That I want to stay the way I’m now, single and attachment free and think about myself and the options I have, and just… I don’t know go with the flow?” Oliver chews on the skin of his thumb knuckle and it feels to Elio as if it’s his own skin, flesh and bones Oliver is suddenly piercing and crushing and he knows he is being selfish and childish, but he is so done with this Fuck up day.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good early morning (2AM over here, but I had such a fun with this chapter!)
> 
> I would like to thank to all my beautiful readers for their comments and kudos. They really mean a lot and are appreciated. I love how kind this fandom is and although I'm fairly new it just makes me feel accepted :) Stay beautiful as always <3\. 
> 
> This is the song - Romeo and Juliet by the Killers, which is mentioned in the chapter. I guess the majority of people knows it, but putting the link in here just in case :) https://youtu.be/NtmorUXAwiI

Elio doesn’t believe in heaven or the acts of redemption and condemnation, but he knows that if his mother could see him now, she would be smiling. Others like to point out that Elio inherited Annella’s porcelain skin and lanky limbs, but he never managed to match the side of his mother, which was outgoing and easy to talk to, while making friends everywhere she went. She used to tease him for it, frowning even, when it was always just Elio and Marzia – _there are so many doors to be opened. Why are you so scared to look what’s behind them?_

And here he is, the middle part of chain – Marzia, Michael, Emma, Oliver and Sammy, all of them comfortably stretched over their own little piles of cushions Marzia and Elio prepared for them. When did all of this have a chance to happen? When exactly did he decide that the old Elio - Elio, who was happy in his solitude with only music for the company wasn’t quite enough, and something gave him that last push he needed to hold his chin up and put himself out there and finally try?

“Are you okay?” Marzia whispers into his ear as the rest of the group continues to analyse the movie plot.

“Sì,” he says and shakes his head when Emma offers a slice of her pizza to him, “just thought about mamma, that’s all.”

“Oh, tesoro mio,” Marzia nudges his neck with her nose playfully, and Elio feels the brief outline of her bittersweet smile, “I hope they are happy thoughts.”

“Very much so,” he replies and it feels strange, but beautiful that he is telling her the truth once again, and there isn’t any hidden pain or numbness.

He looks over where Oliver and Sammy are sitting and it warms him to the bones – the way usually quite reserved Oliver touches his friend ever so often as if he is making sure that this is all actually real and happening. Elio would be lying if he didn’t admit that Sammy’s early arrival and the way it cut his and Oliver’s week short didn’t upset him at first, but the truth is, he would expect nothing less from Marzia if his and Oliver positions were reversed. And it was extraordinary how well they all get along. As if it was all planned very long time ago, as if his mother knew.

“The things the Black Widow could do to me with those thighs,” Michael’s words bring Elio back to _here_ and _now_ and he sips from his almost forgotten glass of red wine.

“I feel like I should be offended, but I have to agree,” Marzia says, words muffled by her boyfriend’s shoulder, “she is dreamy.”

“Dibs on Winter Soldier,” Emma actually raises her hand while she tries to talk around the slice of pizza in her mouth, “second world war hero brainwashed into unmatched killing weapon with absolutely irresistible accent. What else can ordinary woman like myself dream of?”

Elio registers the way Oliver’s eyebrows arch, but the other man remains silent.

“Come on, Oliver,” Sammy’s index finger buries itself deep into Oliver’s stomach, “or shall I tell them how much you fantasize about ordering Tony Stark around?”

The way Marzia’s and Emma’s faces literally _brighten up_ is almost ridiculous, but there are so many possibilities shooting across Elio’s mind and who the hell is he to judge.

“Jesus, Sammy. And you are calling _me_ thirsty,” Oliver rolls his eyes at his friend and takes another sip from his whisky. “It’s just… intelligence is so fucking attractive, okay? Plus the difference in our physiques, he is hardly 5 feet 6 and just to think that I could basically singlehandedly manhandle him and see if I could stop his clever mouth running.”

Elio tries to ignore the way Emma kicks into his ankle; he has enough to deal with, thank you very much. How stupidly plain was his life that it never even crossed his mind that he wouldn’t mind – no – that he wants to be manhandled by other human being (by other human being understand Oliver) and is it even natural, being twenty one years old and finally, finally (!) experiencing sexual awakening?

 _I could bend you with my finger and my thumb_ , Elio’s brain supplies dumbly and Jane Eyre never sounded more interesting and relatable to him.

“Does it mean you are never on the receiving end?” Emma’s voice doesn’t falter and it’s Elio’s time to kick her into shin.

To Elio’s surprise, Oliver doesn’t seem to be embarrassed at all; instead, there is a smile behind the rim of his tumbler – full on, toothy grin. “I think there is very few people, who wouldn’t happily end up on all fours when Robert Downey Jr. is considered.” He wiggles his eyebrows playfully at Emma and Elio is positive that if they were to perform the ECG on him, there would be significant changed to his heart rhythm.

“I vote for Hulk,” Elio says out of nowhere and he resents the moments when he thinks about something in the safety of his own head and ends up talking out loud without realizing it.

“You like them big, green and angry?” Sammy asks him slowly and the staccato her fingers tap against Oliver’s knee seem familiar.

“Well… he is big and damaged, no doubt about that, but there is also side of him, which is gentle, caring and funny. And when he is Bruce Banner he is super smart, he is pretty much the only one, who can keep up with Stark besides maybe Doctor Strange and I don’t know, he has this really soft smile… it makes you weak in the knees,” Elio breathes the words out and thinks the quicker the better and he doesn’t know where exactly does he come up with the audacity, but he meets Oliver’s intense stare straight on.

“And I suppose, you could sit on his lap and call him _daddy_ ,” Michael chips in and everybody is choking with laughter.

“I know what we need to do!” Sammy grabs Emma’s and Marzia’s hands like she knew in advance they will agree to whatever she says. “Tomorrow, we are going dancing!”

**°°°**

“Leave it alone!” Sammy tells Oliver when he tugs at the hem of the fifth shirt he tries on, critically eyeing himself in the mirror. “You look hot as fuck.”

Oliver’s scrunches his nose under Sammy’s more than generous review, “it’s impossible to feel hot, when all I have been wearing for months are pyjamas. It’s not like… like it’s overly important, but I haven’t been out for ages and…”

Sammy smiles at him from the reflection in the mirror and rest her chin on Oliver’s shoulder, “and _the pretty boy_ is going to be there too.”

“The pretty boy?” Oliver repeats and silently decides he likes the way their height difference diminishes with Sammy’s black stilettos.

Sammy rolls her eyes at Oliver and forces him to turn around so she can fix the collar of his white shirt. “You know… _the pretty boy_ ,” she sing songs the words just to annoy Oliver little bit more.

“I’m not going to repeat it again, Sammy,” Oliver tells her and tries his best to avoid her direct gaze.

“You do realize you are just fully proving my point here.”

Oliver doesn’t reply and walks over the sofa where they laid out three pairs of jeans. He picks up the black pair and gives it neutral shrug. “And this is me ignoring you.”

“Wear the blue pair. It matches your eyes and your arse looks like a bomb in it.”

And this time… Oliver listens.

**°°°**

Elio’s seemingly unmovable decision of not drinking and not dancing doesn’t last long. Trust Marzia – her and Michael pregamed at home with buckets of vodka and orange juice and they don’t stand up for him in the slightest.

Sammy proclaimed _nah, you got to live a little, my young friend_ and have been passing him various shots across the bar in the way he always admired in western movies about cowboys and saloons he was so fond of when he was a kid.

“I really like you, you know,” she tells him some time and unidentifiable number of shots later. Elio doesn’t want to be crude, but it crosses his mind that she must have been _practising_ throughout the years. She is not even tipsy. “But you should know I love Oliver.”

Elio’s eyes follow the direction in which Sammy’s chin nods, and he was so disciplined - totally managing not to creepily stare at dancing Oliver and random lucky motherfucker for whole of fifteen minutes. Fuck Sammy. And fuck Oliver. Elio laughs out loud and feels his face going all embarrassing shades of red in mere seconds. Well, not… not fuck Oliver. Definitely don’t fuck Oliver. Don’t put Oliver and fuck in same thought or sentence ever again.

He could have been the one dancing with Oliver right now. If he wasn’t so incredibly scared and absolutely useless in dancing and didn’t say _no_ to Oliver like five million times. Elio’s eyes are burning from staring now, but he can’t help and has to be mesmerized by the way Oliver looks on the dance floor. It is as if he finally let go of whatever was always circling through his mind and allowed himself a little dose of undiluted happiness.

“But if somebody hurts him that much again, I won’t hold back. Not even for such a nice person as yourself.”

Elio blinks stupidly once or twice and he is sure he missed some essential bits and pieces of Sammy’s obviously important monologue while he was _oh, so busy_ staring at the way Oliver’s Adam’s apple becomes more prominent as he throws his head backwards all relaxed and carefree, but he is intelligent enough to get a gist.

**°°°**

“These are female toilets,” Elio point out and patiently watches Marzia and Emma as they fix each other’s lipstick. “Why am I in female toilets?”

“Because you are a giant pussy!” Emma exclaims and sends Marzia into one of her snorting laugh attacks.

Elio shrugs his shoulders as if to say there was nothing he could change about the clearly stated fact.

“Honestly, Elio! Why don’t you just talk to him already?” Marzia’s voice is too loud in his ears and there is a little speck of red on her two front teeth. “You don’t like him anymore or what? Cause if you don’t, I’m in the line, bro! Even Michael said he would give it a go cause those jeans, damn, THOSE JEANS, Elio!”

“For fuck’s sake, Marzia! You don’t have to sell him to me. I assure you that I’m quite sold and trust me… trust me that his backside in those jeans is a source of my night long frustration and headache.”

And then Marzia cries, because that’s what she does when someone swears at her while she is drunk. It takes another thirty minutes in female toilets in which Elio learns that when woman says she wears natural makeup it means her face is actually covered in shit ton of stuff. Not all of it ugly-drunk-cry-waterproof.

**°°°**

Oliver finishes the drink the barman hands him in one greedy swig and Elio itches to mention something about mixing medication and alcohol, but bites the inside of his cheek instead. As far as Elio knows, Oliver had only two drinks tonight and Elio will make sure he keeps the track.

Oliver’s face is covered in sweat and his stupid fringe is stuck to his stupid forehead again and being this close to Elio he should stink – any other normal human being would stink after spending hours dancing, but nah, that would be too mainstream for Oliver so he smells completely distracting and lovely instead.

“I requested this one, you know,” Oliver winks at Elio, but there is something about his eyes, which makes him look almost sheepish as he tugs on Elio’s hand. “So you can’t ditch me again.”

Elio registers the familiar tune and rolls his eyes at Oliver, “what is it with you and Brandon Flowers? It’s not even the original and it’s… I don’t know… just lame.”

Elio’s complaint dies somewhere in the middle of his throat, because Oliver – Oliver fucking Ulliva starts to sing in the ridiculously close proximity of Elio’s shocked face, and it should be embarrassing and awkward, but the bastard has surprisingly nice singing voice.

 

_“Juliet, the dice was loaded from the start_

_And I bet and you exploded in my heart_

_And I forget, I forget the movie song_

_When you going to realize, it was just that the time was wrong Juliet?”_

 

“You do realize how completely party unsuitable this song actually is, right? Look, literally zero human beings groping each other on the dance floor right now.”

“Well, you and I are dancing,” Oliver points out and Elio blinks in disbelief at their slowly moving bodies. Ok, it isn’t exactly dancing in the most conventional meaning of the word - it is more about Oliver, who holds both of Elio’s hands and slowly moves their bodies to music, but hell, how did he fail to notice?

“It doesn’t change the fact that we are dancing to incredibly stupid song,” Elio says grumpily and it’s more in sake of having the last word than actual opinion.

“Did you know that Romeo and Juliet is the book people lie the most often about, claiming they read it to appear more intelligent to others? Meanwhile they only watched the movie or watch the play.”

 _Reading Romeo and Juliet won’t save me now_ , Elio thinks as Oliver moves somehow even closer towards him, and he decides that he absolutely despises the way Oliver’s white shirt clings to his body. “And Bible. Bible is the other one.” _He should fall to his knees and pray to whomever up there, who made Oliver to wear those jeans tonight._

Oliver’s eyes widen almost comically and that must mean he somehow caught Elio’s quietly murmured response. This close to Oliver’s face - it doesn’t escape to Elio’s sluggish attention that the other man’s usual mask isn’t firmly set in place, and that there is whole barrage of emotions rolling over each other and Elio doesn’t know how on Earth could have Romeo and Juliet and Bible set all of it off.

And Elio thinks Oliver looks really happy, but also incredibly sad and he knows that's not even logically possible, but he is also little bit drunk.

 

_“Well, you can fall for chains of silver, you can fall for chains of gold_

_You can fall for pretty strangers and the promises they hold_

_You promised me everything, you promised me thick and thin_

_Now you just say, "Oh, Romeo, yeah, you know_

_I used to have a scene with him"_

 

And Oliver’s voice isn’t much more than a quiet hum, which fans over Elio’s face together with slight undertone of expensive whisky.

And then Sammy and Emma join in and they are off – all three of them and wretched Brandon Flowers and poor Elio’s ears.

 

_“Juliet, when we made love you used to cry_

_I said "I love you like the stars above, I love you till I die"_

_And there's a place for us, you know that movie song_

_When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong, Juliet”_

 

“I completely forgot how stupidly sweet you can be when you want to,” Sammy says and loudly kisses Oliver’s cheek. “Honestly. You cut this man and he bleeds sap.”

Emma’s eyes are basically two, enormous hearts as she smiles at Elio.

There are another two bottles in the middle of their table when they finally sit down, and Elio’s stomach attempts a somersault.

Elio isn’t sure if he is imagining it or not when Oliver’s knee rests against his own under the table and doesn’t move for the rest of the evening. But he can’t miss the gentle, timid smile, which meets him across the table as the rest of the group starts to share their embarrassing dating stories.

**°°°**

“I can’t. Carry on without me. And remember me, my friend. Please, remember me!” Elio leans against another lamp post, third, he thinks, but the two previous ones could have also been trees or just random bystanders they met on their way to Oliver’s place.

They all agreed to have a sleepover at Oliver’s flat as it was walking distance from the club, but right now, it seems as if hundreds miles away to Elio.

“Always so dramatic,” Oliver’s impressive body leans over him where he is still hanging around the lamp post/tree/complete stranger. “I could give you a piggyback ride if you promise to behave yourself and if it stops you from whinging.”

“I don’t whinge. Take a note of that. I demand it. I definitely don’t whinge,” Elio points his index finger in general direction of Oliver’s chest and eyes him slowly. “And I don’t think it would be good for your wound.”

“Don't flatter yourself. You are what? Fifty-five kilograms at the most.”

“Fifty-tree actually. Fuck you very much.” Elio’s brain supplies a quick reminder of not using Oliver and fuck in the same thought or sentence ever again, but he is already half sprawled across Oliver’s back with his cold nose buried in other man’s neck, so who cares.

“Are you okay? You are awfully quiet,” Oliver tells him after he carries Elio for a while, “are you gonna be sick?”

Elio tried to hold his breath for as long as he could, but he is sure his face is cyanosed by now so he takes a deep breath and it smells like skin and sweat and other million things about which Elio doesn’t want to think right now – things like peaches, sun and belonging.

“You smell nice,” Elio says against the skin of Oliver’s neck and he likes the way it makes his lips feel – all warm and lovely, and he decides to talk some more. “You should stink. I do stink. Marzia stinks. Even Michael does. Why don’t you stink, Oliver?”

“I don’t really know. But I’m sorry?” Oliver says sounding every bit confused he has every right to be and hoist Elio’s slipping body higher onto his back. “Look, we are almost home.”

**°°°**

Oliver is surprised that Elio manages and doesn’t vomit until they arrive to Oliver’s place. He didn’t exactly agree with how much Sammy and the company made the boy drink, but Elio was old enough and who was Oliver to voice his opinion aloud. He sits on the bathroom floor next to Elio and uncertainly skims his fingers over Elio’s shaking back. The younger man continues to heave over the toilet bowl until there is nothing left in his sore, abused stomach.

Elio sits back onto his heels and Oliver goes with an encouraging smile as he hands him a wet flannel.

“Thank you,” Elio says as he wipes his mouth and looks left and right as if not sure what to do with the dirty flannel after he used it.

Oliver takes it from Elio and throws it in laundry basket. He sits back down on the floor, and doesn’t exactly know why he doesn’t stop his hand before reaching out and wiping off tears in the corners of Elio’s tired eyes. It feels _right_. As if it was something fundamental, something Oliver should have been doing since forever.

“So are you going to call him?” Elio asks and Oliver can’t help and wonders why Elio suddenly sounds so deflated and _small_.

“Sorry?”

“That blonde guy you danced with the last three songs before we left? He gave me his telephone number for you. It’s in your jacket.”

Oliver draws his eyebrows together in clear sign of confusion, “I don’t really know,” he shrugs his shoulders slowly, “No, I don’t think I will.”

“But you thought about it, haven’t you?” Elio asks him and his voice trembles little. “You hesitated for a moment when I asked you. You thought about it.”

“Yes? I guess?” Oliver nods, but doesn’t really understand what is Elio asking from him. He reaches for the messy curls, which are hanging over Elio’s sweaty forehead and sweeps them to the side, the boy’s skin boiling hot under his fingertips.

“I-I don’t understand, Oliver,” Elio’s eyes are desperate and glossy with unshed tears when he grabs at Oliver’s shirt in futile attempt to ground himself “you give a thought to the random bloke you know fuck all about, but you won’t give _me_ one seldom thought… you won’t consider what could be – what is – what is right here, Oliver – pure and real… and Jesus, I tried… I try so bloody hard, but then you just keep being _you_ and do something stupid like blow raspberries into your cat’s belly and make the best friends with grumpy man, who is like two hundreds years old and I can’t do it, okay? Don’t you see it? It’s like in that stupid song of yours; the dice _was_ loaded from the start, wasn’t it? And I can't do anything except be in love with you.”

Oliver’s fingers are still glued to Elio’s temple and his arm hurts in this weird angle but doesn’t move.

“Oh, Elio,” Oliver exhales the name in the way one uses an interjection of pain and desperation “of course I think about you, of course I do and you have to know that I feel honoured-“

“Cut the bullshit and skip to the _but_ ,” Elio wishes there was any venom left, but he can’t stop himself from crying, because he knows what is going to follow, but it still tears him apart from the inside - this visceral, animalistic pain.

“I’m bad news, Elio,” Oliver whispers and his hand finally drops alongside his body, “I can’t make anyone happy, not even myself. Whatever image of me you have – whatever expectations, I always… always just disappoint people around me and hurt them and you will hate me for it. I can’t… I won’t risk our friendship, Elio.”

“Please, don’t tell me how I feel or will feel about you. If you don’t want me, just say it, but don’t downplay the strength of my emotions. I know you don’t see yourself the way I see you, but I fell in love with you – no, I slowly walked in love with you for so many different reasons that it offends me when you think I could hate you because of your depression and anxiety. I told you before, I have my share of nightmares, but I _know_ we will look after each other. There was never a doubt.”

Elio tries but fails spectacularly to calm his trembling fingers when he slowly places them over Oliver’s hand, “Oliver?”

Oliver watches the way Elio lips shape around the letters of his name and it almost feels as if he is hearing it for the first time. As if it really doesn’t matter that he isn’t the best rugby player and can’t afford lavish life style. As if it won’t end up in blames and anger if he admits for once that he isn’t in perfect control and doesn’t know what happens next. As if Elio understands. As if he is telling the truth, saying there was never a doubt.

“I was thinking I would very much like to kiss you, but we are sitting next to toilet and you just have been sick so…” Oliver smiles as he leans his forehead towards Elio’s, flattening the younger man’s nose with his own a little, “this will have to do."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing anymore, but I just love these two so so much ☺ ❤️. 
> 
> The real life is sometimes so bleak and disappointing and the goodness between Oliver and Elio gives me all sort of feelings. 
> 
> Thank you for all the love you are giving this story, I feel like we should all just meet up and watch CMBYN together while gushing over Oliver and Elio. 
> 
> Stay beautiful ❤️.

Elio’s face finds its way a little bit deeper into the soft fleece of heavy blanket, which is now covering the most of his body and head. Oliver offered his bed to Marzia and Michael, because that was just the kind of person he was – always thinking about others and their wellbeing, set the sofa bed in the living room for Sammy and Emma and prepared an air bed for himself and Elio. Elio hears Marzia’s and Michael’s whispered words from behind the bathroom’s door, and there is also sound of Sammy and Emma as they rummage through Oliver’s refrigerator, trying to shoo Pushkin away when he tries to follow their lead and helps himself to an open packet of salami. And then there is barely noticeable sound, sound of bare feet against the wooden floor, and Elio’s half lidded gaze follows Oliver as he makes sure that there is a big glass of water and painkillers within the reach for all of them.

The airbed jumps a little and gives out a long, painful squeak when it dips under Oliver’s bodyweight. There is a fresh smell of verbena and something else, something Elio isn’t able to name just yet, but associates distinctively with Oliver now, and he suddenly feels self-conscious about the fact he didn’t take a shower earlier. Oliver lies down carefully, Elio can tell from the way he slowly position himself limb-by-limb, clearly aware that Elio is quietly watching him. As he takes in the other man’s simple and well-worn grey t-shirt with comfortably looking pair of cotton pants, Elio decides that the pyjama Oliver is definitely scoring high on the list of his favourites. Of course, Oliver from earlier tonight, being agonizingly handsome, confident and sexy in his designer and for Elio’s sanity too tight clothes was sight to remember, but this Oliver, this private side of him when he looks nothing but soft and welcoming makes Elio think of late Sunday mornings with beloved book and steaming cup of tea is the one Elio is the proudest of being privy to.

“Do you always sleep with your blanket over your head?” Oliver’s voice whispers and although the living room is quite dark now, with Oliver’s face being so close to his, Elio knows he is smiling.

“Just a silly habit I picked up as a kid,” Elio says slowly and he suddenly feels _how_ tired he really is, his mouth stretching widely with a suppressed yawn at the end of the sentence, “I believe… I mean I used to believe that it protects me from the monsters, you know?” There is a little embarrassed laugh, which follows, because really, why was he even going _there_? “It’s so stupid, I know. But I thought if they can’t see me they can’t reach me and hurt me.” Elio’s throat closes up painfully around the last two words and he thinks about the times he slept next to his mother, because ‘ _pain and worry are always somewhat worse at night_ , _Elio’_ covering both of them head to toe with countless layers, wishing it could be so easy as it was when he was seven years old – simply believing that if the monster can’t see them, his mother’s illness and suffering will go away.

“That makes perfect sense,” Oliver says in the way as if he actually sincerely contemplates Elio’s theory, and then to the younger man’s sheer surprise, he wiggles his way under Elio’s blanket, following his suit, “why didn’t I think about it myself?”

Elio is sure that after the earlier emotional haemorrhage all over Oliver’s shiny bathroom floor, there can’t be possibly anything else he can spare, but when Oliver is involved it seems as Elio’s fragile world is suddenly _lawless_ and he proves Elio wrong once again. Elio’s chest swells with it – the feeling of _what unimaginable good I must have done, perhaps in one of my previous lives, to deserve to know you_ and he is sure he is going to explode with it any second now, painting the walls of Oliver’s little flat with bright colours of gratitude, love and happiness.

“This is exactly _one of those things_ I spoke about earlier,” Elio murmurs softly and he wishes the dark around them could supply him with a little bit more courage – but no – his voice and hands still shake the same.

There is a sound of a sharp inhale from Oliver, but no words come out.

“Don’t bother to think about the way to stop yourself,” Elio sighs into the dark, “you will probably just end up even more adorable. It should be sickening really.”

They both laugh at that and the tip of Elio’s nose itches where Oliver’s fringe fans over his sensitive skin.

“How is your stomach now? Did the pills help a bit?” Oliver asks, his voice coloured with a hint of badly hidden concern.

“Still hurts like hell,” Elio’s hand briefly touches his own stomach out of reflex, “but then I guess I deserve it. Nobody told me I have to empty the entire bar.”

“Try to get some sleep, ok?” Oliver tells him and Elio can’t stop the full body shiver which runs through him when the other man’s fingers start playing with his hair, “I promise we will talk tomorrow when you are better and more awake.”

Elio takes it as his small, personal victory when Oliver doesn’t add _and you change your mind_ and forces himself to keep his eyes open for a little bit longer and loosing against the gentle ministrations of Oliver’s fingers against his scalp.

“Just so you know,” he informs Oliver while yawning directly into his face, “there is literally zero chance of me being into you any less by tomorrow morning. None. Nada.” And with that, Elio closes the barely there distance between them and with a brief touch of his lips against Oliver’s forehead finally agrees to go to sleep.”

**° ° °**

When Elio wakes up, he is hungry and also freezing, and he doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that Oliver is gone, the lovely warmth, which radiated from the older man, seeping into Elio’s always somehow cold body, no longer comfortably wrapped around him. He gets up slowly, trying to be as quiet as he can while climbing off the airbed awkwardly, the heavy blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders and spilling on the floor like a fancy ballroom gown. He wonders what time it is as he walks towards the patio door, the morning sun weak and far too cold.

Elio finds Oliver in the garden where he stands quietly next to Pushkin, who is elegantly perched on the top of the fence, focusing and staring into something Elio knows his eyes won’t be able to see. Oliver’s head follows the silent click of the door and Elio tries his damn hardest to school his whole body language into something different than _I don’t really know if you want me here, but it’s too late to back up now._

“Morning,” Oliver tells Elio and the smile, which half formed itself on his face is replaced with a flash of guilt, “did I wake you up?”

When Elio shakes his head, but otherwise remains silent, Oliver takes it as his clue to continue.

“Sammy was really sick earlier and woke me up. The girl can hold her liqueur, but the aftermath, I would say it’s not really worthy the fun part of the night.”

“Poor Sammy,” Elio’s stomach flinches in sympathy and although he knows the answer for his next question – he saw sleeping Emma and Sammy as he made his way across the living room, he asks nonetheless, “is she okay?”

“Don’t you dare to feel sorry for her, Elio,” Oliver shakes his head and rubs on his tired eyes, “projectile vomiting or not, she still had a time and energy to ask _what_ is it you and I are going to talk about in the morning, and when I declined to gossip she had about five possible theories her and the rest of our so called friends whipped together via text messages while you been asleep.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“Any of them plausible?” Elio asks as he stands next to Oliver, tentatively offering one corner of the blanket to him.

“Four.”

“Four?”

“The fifth one was about you realizing that what was told on Friday night when we watched the Avengers was actually just _the thing_ you always wanted, asking me to wear Hulk costume whilst -.”

“NO!” Elio interrupts and he knows his face is on fire, but damn, he wasn’t ready for this, not the first thing in the morning.

“Whilst asking to sit on my lap, calling me daddy,” Oliver adds in case Elio somehow miraculously forgot what was said, which he unfortunately didn’t. “Of course, it was Michael’s theory.”

Elio doesn’t know if to laugh or cry or perhaps both at once, and when he dares to look up, he knows the older man is having similar difficulties to deal with.

“We have created monster.”

Oliver shrugs his shoulder in somewhat defeated gesture, “something like that.”

**° ° °**

Morning air feels almost painfully fresh in Oliver’s lungs, but he forces another deep breath in, because he feels that whatever will follow, he will need it. Elio looks so vulnerable and _breakable_ from where he stands in the bleak, morning sun, but the silent question in his eyes doesn't falter or loose its intensity.

Oliver looses the count of how many times he mulled Elio’s yesterday’s words over, but they still ring loud and clear in his bewildered mind. How can he admit aloud that it’s not Elio, but him, who is ready to crack, with those long, fine lines already covering the surface of his old, stupid heart, which was patched together in a great hurry and he fears that Elio – with his easy smiles and hunted eyes, Elio – selfless, caring and pure could damage it to the point of no return, because Oliver wants to believe that what Elio offered and promised can be true, it frightens him really – how much he wants it.

It simply never occurred to Oliver that Elio could be interested in any shape or form, banning his own thoughts from _what ifs_ tendencies. At the end, people always left Oliver behind. Sooner rather than later, no matter the attraction and the promises, he was never enough to make them stick around - his parents, his lovers, and his friends.

“I have to admit that my favourite one is the one when I ask you to marry me and our ceremony is the very morning without any of them attending,” Oliver’s smile is soft on his lips as he looks at Elio, “would serve them right.”

“You can’t say things like that, Oliver,” Elio decides and the crowfeet, which form in the corners of Oliver’s eyes when he smiles makes Elio’s tightly knotted insides jump, “you just can’t.”

“Just tell me that you know what you asking for,” the older man tells him and Elio can’t miss the desperate undertone of the statement.

 _What am I asking for?_ How do you take what Elio feels, the never even for a second less bright sensation somewhere between his fourth and fifth rib travelling deeply into his very core, how do you shape it into something so commonplace as human language?

“I wish I have an easy answer for you,” Elio’s fingers entwine with Oliver’s and it amazes him once again how nicely their hands fit together. “The truth is that I actually never even dated properly.”

He knows he is most likely blushing again, but that’s ok, because this is Oliver and there isn’t reason for any of his defences and high walls. But god, it was still so _so_ hard to voice it aloud, to admit to another human being how emotionally stunted the deaths of his parents made him, how damaged and disconnected he really is.

“So yeah, I guess… uhm… I don’t have that much experience and I understand it can be quite a turnoff for some people,” he makes a half aborted motion with his free hand between himself and Oliver, “I just know I want to make you as happy as you make me – it’s all as if and this is ridiculous, but it’s as if you slayed this beast deep inside me, which was slowly poisoning me for years and I was loosing so spectacularly, but then you turned up and all you ever needed were your bare hands and that big heart of yours. So if there is the slightest chance, I would like to be as close to your body and soul as possible, as close as you will have me.”

 _Beautiful_ , he thinks as Oliver takes a slow half step towards him and Elio wants to submerse into the never-ending blue of Oliver’s eyes forever.

“This close?” Oliver looks at him from under his fringe and his eye lashes are stupidly long and thick against his cheek and Elio’s mind screams – touch, kiss, touch, kiss – the new, never-ending mantra.

“Or little bit closer?” Oliver’s forehead finds its way to Elio’s – resting against each other in now familiar, but still so intimate gesture. He knows he should be embarrassed when there is actual whimper, which escapes his mouth when Oliver’s hand travels from his shoulders to his face, but he is too lost in the feeling to care.

Elio thinks he should probably pick up the long forgotten blanket, which was now uselessly tangled around their feet, but that would mean less of Oliver’s fingers on his face and he was lots of things but a complete mad man wasn’t one of them.

“Elio,” Oliver whispers and the younger man’s name sounds as so much more on his lips, “may I kiss you?”

Elio knows there was a question mark somewhere at the end of Oliver’s sentence and he should answer, but it’s as if all his senses are experiencing this indescribable high and he doesn’t have a clue, which way is up and which way is down. His body leaps even closer to Oliver and he ends up kissing more of Oliver’s nose than his lips, but he couldn’t care less. Oliver’s laugh against his skin as he peppers the older man’s temples, eyes and chin with shy, barely there kisses is heaven and Elio thinks that if this is all he ever going to get – this absolute connection of their spirits he will die a happy man.


End file.
